Devlin Potter: The Cannon Sounds
by GingeredTea
Summary: It's usually cannon characters who visit alternative universes, but this is different. Devlin is transported away from the Final Battle in his world into the Cannon Timeline & lands in Albus Potter's class. Of course, it doesn't help matters that Devlin looks like a Riddle or that he and Harry Potter are equally war-trained and ready to draw their wands.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTERS: ALL UPDATED!**

**I'm doing a bit of rewriting. It's sort of a spur of the moment thing. I felt like it needed more of a "beginning". Devlin Potter fans should be happy - even if the ending of Devlin Potter isn't **_**exactly**_** like this beginning (this story is meant to be a double alternative reality - AU within an AU, meets Cannon. haha!) Of course there is something you all have the benefit of knowing about Harry Potter that Devlin doesn't yet. It's still a bit of rough draft...I am impatient to upload it and see what everyone thinks. **

**As before: ****THIS STORY IS BEST READ AFTER READING THE DEVLIN POTTER SERIES!**

**That said, if you insist on reading it without reading the others, here are some basic facts you should know.**

**Devlin **_**Potter**_** is a Potter. He is Harry Potters biological son.**

**Devlin's mother is Voldemort's daughter, although neither were aware of the relation until years after Devlin's birth (note to self: write the scene were Alex visits her mother with baby Devlin and Alex's mother spills the secret).**

**Devlin was kidnapped when he was four years old by Death Eaters. He spent four years in Voldemort's Headquarters and was rescued when he was eight (although he thought it was more like kidnaping at the time).**

**He is not, as my reviewer mistakenly thought, an innocent child. He has killed, tortured, and cast Imperius under Voldemort guiding hand. He has also preformed acts of kindness, such as rescuing a child from Voldemort.**

**He is not evil, but his experiences as a young child have made him cold in some regards.**

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO on with the story oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Dead.

Devlin felt empty as he followed the procession back to the castle.

Dead.

Hagrid was weeping.

Harry Potter was doing nothing.

Dead.

Devlin wasn't sure he was even walking by himself, except that things were moving around him and when he looked down, his legs were lifting one after the other, propelling him forward. His mind was in chaos, like the world around him.

Voldemort swept his wand harshly and a small bit of chaos is replaced with a clear spot for the dead body of Harry Potter to be displayed. Devlin watched as Voldemort forced Hagrid to relinquish his hold of the limp body and place it on the ground.

Screaming.

Devlin's mother was screaming, Ron and Hermione held her back behind Voldemort's barrier. He thought perhaps she screamed his name once or twice, but he couldn't focus on her words and his only only suspicion came from the way Voldemort draped his arm around his shoulder, drawing Devlin close.

Dead.

Harry Potter was dead at his feet. Devlin wouldn't let himself look down. He looked straight ahead and scowled, so that his face wouldn't betray him. Somehow, the chaos in his mind helped him distance himself from what was actually happening.

When the battle started, Devlin was more than eager to get away from those eyes that should have been open and from those hands that should have been fighting. He found his body had little problem engaging in a fight, even as his mind scrambled to find balance inside of itself.

"Hey boy, get inside!" Some Auror shouted at him - someone who obviously didn't know him at all. Devlin turned his gaze towards the man and the Auror's brow wrinkled, just slightly, before Devlin aimed his wand and sent a boil curse towards the Auror. He parried well, but Devlin was quick and vicious in ways the Auror hadn't expected and the fight ends with the man on the ground, unconscious. He heard a call of encouragement from a Death Eater next to him and turned smirking towards the hooded man. His blood rushed with magic.

Devlin hardly notices the duel has ended - behind his instincts were the haunted thoughts, slowly catching up with him. Like the look on his father's face, moments before he had allowed himself to be killed.

There had been a quiet fear in his father's eyes, like the almost-gone fear that lingers while someone whispers reassuring things into your ears. His father had wanted to die. Had wanted to _leave_ Devlin.

_'I need to know you are safe, Devlin_'

Why had he needed to know Devlin was safe, if he didn't care enough to make it happen? Devlin pushed the stupidity he felt for reassuring his father aside.

_"There will be no dueling, Voldemort." _Somehow, Devlin had been expecting something more grand as Harry Potter's final words, but yet, the more he lingered on the words, the more fitting they became. There will be no dueling. What had it meant?

He is as haunted by these words as he is by the small stone that had dropped from his father's hand. What had that been? Why had he dropped it? At the time, his father's eyes had begged him not to follow the stone, not to attract attention to it, and Devlin had granted the man his wish. His last wish. But now Devlin's wondered if there had been more.

Voldemort has moved on to dueling Dumbledore. Ron was dueling Warren. Hermione was up against Greyback, with Remus beside her. His mother was missing amongst the crowd and Devlin found himself searching for her beneath an easily erected shield.

He found her, battling Bellatrix. Their bodies moved through space with an almost effortless appearance, like two planets circling but never crashing. His mother was strong and quick, but Bella was vicious like Devlin and soon she has figured out every one of Alexandra's weaknesses. His mother staggered backwards, missing one of Bella's curses by mere inches. Bella raised her wand again, parted her lips, and began another curse. Alexandra had hardly recovered.

Panic.

It was tight and cold in his chest. He's never felt it so acutely. It overwhelmed him as it spread through his body.

Running.

He was running towards his mother, without really realizing it until he was only ten or so feet away from them both. For a moment her blue eyes meet his green. There are tears in her eyes.

_I love you. _

She mouthed, or maybe she shouted, but either way, the only way Devlin can understand it is through the movements of her lips.

His raised his wand and uttered the spell. His wolf leapt from the tip of his wand and sprang towards her. It's ghostly paws dug themselves into the ground in front of her and it bared it's teeth, opening wide in a howl that never left the etherial world. The wolf swallowed the ugly purple curse whole and for a moment his belly glowed, before he simply vanished.

Bella turned on her heel to stare in disbelief at his betrayal, but Devlin merely breathed in and breathed out, standing straighter.

"She was mine. Mine to kill. Mine to torture. Mine to save until last." Bella frowned, just slightly. This was what his grandfather would say about Harry Potter; Voldemort who kills people who play with his toys. His mother was rising to her feet, obviously sensing the same thing. Devlin lifted his wand and pointed it at her chest.

"_Avada __Kadava," _he whispered and suddenly there are no longer any female Death Eaters in his Grandfather's ranks. When he looked again, his mother's eyes were full of horror, her body momentarily frozen beside the dead women. He wondered if it was because he killed or because it had been so effortless, or maybe because he had used _that _spell?

They don't know. They never had. He'd told them bits and pieces, of course, but Devlin hadn't been sure if they had really ever grasped who he had been and would always be. He can see the realization dawning in his mother eyes.

He lifted his wand again and suddenly an Auror, moments away from killing a Death Eater he knew, was screaming in agony under Crucio. The horror in his mother's blue eyes mounted and Devlin's emptiness grew until there was nothing inside of him.

Now she had seen him - the real Devlin Augustus Potter.

Some part of him had always wanted to show her; he had always felt like he was playing a game with her and his father - with everyone_. _It had always been like the game he had started when he was eight, had never really stopped; as if he'd been pretending to be Devlin when he had never really stopped being Dubhán.

She takes a step towards him and Devlin suddenly felt that emptiness shatter into something different, something even _less_.

He ran.

He wanted to run away from himself. He wanted to feel like the boy he'd been pretending to be. He ran for the forest, his body crashing through the woods and for a moment he felt like a little boy again, escaping. Then he found himself in the clearing again.

For a moment he was frozen. He could hear shouts from behind him but there was too much blood rushing in his ears for him to tell if it was his mother or his grandfather. He scrambled forward, throwing himself on the spot where his father's body had fallen, searching for that last wish. It had been important and Devlin _wanted_ it for its importance. He felt a rush of jealousy for something his father had kept safe longer than his own son.

The footsteps and shouts were getting closer.

It shimmered up at him, amber like his eyes, and he flung his arm forward, curling his hand around the stone. He was on his feet in a moment, rushing further and further into the forest, until it was so dark he could barely see. He fell down a hill of some sort, his body crashing against the ground as he tumbled down and down.

When he stopped tumbling, he ached all over. The shouting was right next to him now, but he still couldn't tell who it was. Hadn't he outrun them? He checked his hand and felt a rush of relief when he realized the stone was still in his hand.

He tried to focus on the words, but even as he heard them quite clearly, his brain refused to clearly supply their meanings for him.

"To the front of the room! Into the hallway!"

He opened his eyes very slowly. Everything was a blur for a moment as the room spun, as people rushed to their feet, as his body throbbed with pain, as smoke rose from the abandoned cauldrons set atop the many tables, and as the smoke filled the room.

He blinked and shifted his weight.

'_He's alive!'_ He heard someone shout, but he hasn't the strength to reply and the concerned people rush past him at the urging of that voice again. Except for one boy, who was perfectly frozen, tears of pain washing down his cheeks from the cut he's made to his own hand.

There is shock and bewilderment in those eyes. Those emerald eyes that so perfectly replicate the killing curse that Devlin would know them anywhere. Devlin lifted himself out of the mess he's made of the table and stumbles backwards.

He's in the past. He's not sure how he's made it here, but those unmistakable green eyes are his evidence. He stared at them for a long moment, unable to look away from the vibrancy in those eyes. The life.

The smoke is filling the room and growing more dense and soon the green eyed boy is almost invisible, even though they can't be standing but five feet apart. Devlin could see and feel the boys eyes, locked onto his.

"Mr. Potter? Has anyone seen Mr. Potter?" That voice is bellowing, right in the hallway, the tone frantic and Devlin heard the owner of the voice begin to cough. A sure sign the man is either entering the room again or that the smoke is spreading into the hallway.

There is blood. Devlin can smell it as it mixes repulsively with the smell of the one botched potion and the abandoned potions (which are now burning). It brings Devlin back to reality, even as it brings the battle he has just left to the forefront of his mind. The boy hasn't even risen to his feet. Somehow Devlin had expected more of his famous father and it is with a bit of hesitation that Devlin takes action, having expected it from the young Harry Potter. Perhaps his father wasn't as brave as he had always thought. Perhaps he _had_ hidden behind men greater than he until there were none left.

He grabbed hold of the boy and lifted him to his feet. The boy opened his mouth, but Devlin quickly covered Harry's lips with his hand. It was bad enough to be breathing this in through their nose - it was hardly intelligent to be talking!

The boy wasn't much help - he stumbled and moaned and held his other arm to his chest as if he hasn't felt pain so bad before. There is a gash on his palm, but Devlin couldn't gauge how deep it was, since the boys whole hand is smeared with blood.

As they made it into the hallway Devlin threw the boy ahead of him, into the clear air, where he heard the boy gulp greedily. A squat old man is already at Potter's side by the time Devlin emerged. Potter pointed to him and for the first time, Devlin heard his young father's voice.

"He pulled me out, Professor," Harry Potter said and the voice wasn't at all what Devlin had been expecting. Somehow it was too childish. It was lacking the uncertainty that Devlin expected from his father, because his father had said what an uncertain boy he had been before Hogwarts. 'I was always worried I had done something wrong' his father had told him.

The Professor's eyes turn to Devlin as Devlin brushes the air around him, trying to get the last tendrils of smoke to leave him. His shoulder is smeared with his own blood and his right hand with Harry Potter's blood from where he had transferred it to his own non-injured hand.

They're both staring and even though Devlin knew he must look a right mess - disheveled hair that he can feel full of some kind of powdered ingredient, clothes covered in the acidic smell of a potion gone awry that only partly mask the smell of blood lingering from the battle he had left, and his sleeve ripped down it's length - he got the feeling that there was more to the squat old man's stare.

"I..."

Devlin was aware it was probably shocking to have a boy fall into your classroom, but Devlin was still disappointed that the man couldn't form _any_ coherent words. Instead he wraps Harry's hand and then approaches Devlin.

For a moment Devlin almost imagined he saw fear in the man's eyes - fear for Devlin - but then it is gone with a little shake of the man's head, replaced by uncertainty that is far more appropriate for the situation. For, to fear Devlin, the man must _know_ Devlin, which isn't possible at all.

"Are you alright, boy?" He asked, taking a cautious step towards him like he were some wild creature he wasn't sure how to subdue.

"Yes," he said horsely, afraid to say more. Terrible things happen to wizards that mess with time.

He reached out with his wand, probably to treat Devlin's arm, but Devlin shook his head, his fingers caressing the holster of his own wand, quite visible because of the rip in his sleeve.

"No," he said softly, in a warning tone. Harry's eyes are glued to him now and if it was possible there is even more awe in the regard than before.

"You need that looked at boy - it must be very painful. Let me bandage it and then we'll go to the nurse?"

"No," he said again, curling a finger around the latch that will release his wand. The images of the battle are still crisp in his mind.

The man nodded finally, but his eyes continue staring in horrification at the small pool of blood on the floor below Devlin's arm.

"I should bring you to the nurse...but this is so very odd. We'll go to the Headmistress and call the nurse from there." There was an edge of apprehension and fear in the old man's voice. "Will you follow me?"

He's asking Devlin, of course, because the other boy had already risen to his feet, looking ready to do whatever the Professor asked. Devlin nodded and the man lead them away from the classroom with the broken table and abandoned cauldrons. Devlin can already hear House Elf's popping into the classroom.

The classroom...

The thought niggles at the back of his thoughts, shouting for his attention, but it is hard to hear over his blaring headache. He looked up at the squat old man and the same sensation happened again. There is something he is not connecting. He rubs at the back of his skull, tender to the touch. They pass the students, all lined neatly against the wall a few paces from the room. The squat old man talks to them briefly and then leads Devlin and Harry Potter forward.

It was when the old man was standing before the Gargoyles and instead of saying some Muggle sweet to make them open, he said "Tabby Cat" that Devlin realized something was very wrong. He stopped in his place and the old squat man turned around to encourage him on.

"It's all right, lad," he said kindly. Devlin stared at the Gargoyles who stared back at him and after a moment of steeling himself, went onto the stairs. His father had said that Dumbledore always used sweets when he was a boy, just like he did in Devlin's time. But perhaps...he'd once or twice used something different?

"Sit down," the old man said, motioning to the overstuffed chairs Devlin knew all too well. Harry Potter takes a seat quickly, like a boy just as familiar with this office as Devlin.

The old man went over to the floo. Devlin could hear him speaking in hushed tones.

"Have you ever been to Hogwarts?" Devlin turned his head to regard the boy, smiling in a way that made Devlin suspect the Professor had thrown in a slight pain reducing charm with his wrap.

He is caught up in those green eyes, so vibrant and _there_ and for a moment all he can see are his father's empty eyes. _There will be no dueling_. His father, ready to die.

How could these eyes ever be ready to die? Was this what his father looked like before he knew about Voldemort? Before he knew his destiny?

"Alright, the nurse will be here in just a moment, boys and the Head Auror too, Mr. Potter," the squat old man says, with a wink towards the boy.

Harry Potter nodded, but Devlin keeps himself perfectly still, afraid to communicate in any unnecessary ways. Terrible things happen to wizards who mess with time.

It is a man who comes in first, dressed in Herbology robes and pulling thick gloves off of his hands as he he entered. Devlin would know him anywhere, except he can't be who Devlin thinks.

"Hello boys," the man said and his kind eyes wandered to Devlin, stilling. There is no fear in his eyes, but there is that same almost-recognition as Devlin had seen flitter across the other Professor's eyes, too. "I'm the Deputy Headmaster, Neville Longbottom. May I ask your name?"

Devlin regarded him cooly, unanswering. Terrible things happen to wizards who mess with time.

Yet, the absolute certainty that he's in the past was dissolving in Devlin's gut, leaving room for doubt to plant its seed. This couldn't be Neville Longbottom because Harry Potter and Neville were _exactly_ the same age.

"Albus, can you tell me what happened?" Devlin spun around, trying to see where the old coot was. Devlin hated being snuck up on.

There is no Albus Dumbledore in the room and Neville's gaze remains firmly on Harry Potter.

"Well, Professor...I'm not really sure. I know it wasn't my fault though!"

Devlin frowned. If he wasn't in the past, then was he dreaming? Perhaps it was some cruel trick. He wouldn't put it past his Grandfather to punish or test him this way.

For a moment Neville's eyes flickered to the old squat man again.

"You called the Ministry?"

"I as good as did, I called Albus' dad, after all."

Devlin's frown deepened.

"Hey, don't worry, it'll be alright," the maybe-not-Harry-Potter boy said in a hushed tone, leaning forward. "My dad can fix anything. He'll figure out how to get you home."

_Dad?_

And suddenly, the fuzziness was gone. This couldn't be Harry Potter, but it was a Potter of some kind. Obviously related. He had Lily's eyes. Devlin suspected this was a mind game of some kind, at the very least one designed by his own mind, at the very worst, designed and implemented by his grandfather.

"No one can fix everything," he said, hushed but harsh, to the boy. "Nothing is ever alright and if you actually believe what you've said, you're a complete dunderhead."

He wasn't in the past. He could speak.

The Professor's turned to him, Neville's gaze soft and concerned, the old man's sharp and fearful.

A chuckle distracted everyone's gaze and suddenly Devlin realized that the old coot had been there the entire time. As a painting.

"Albus Dumbledore," he breathed, rising from his chair, taking a shaky step backwards.

"Why yes, that I am I. I must say, young man, I haven't heard 'dunderhead' in many years. It brought back some fond memories," the painting turned briefly, "wouldn't you say so, Severus?"

The painting beside Dumbledore opened it's dark eyes, peering down at Devlin.

"Fond?" The dark man gives a sardonic grunt. "I do not have any fond memories involving you, Albus."

Albus the painting waved a dismissive hand. Devlin looked between them with rapt attention, horrified with his dream or horrified with whatever game someone was playing on his mind. He shut his jaw.

Devlin feels shaky, under both these regards. Dead. He swallowed.

"Something wrong, my boy?" The painted Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes concerned. Devlin can't find words.

"You've scared the boy, Albus," said the Severus painting, an oddly curious and sardonically satisfied smile on his face.

"No, no, I can't have scared him," the painted Dumbledore replied.

"How can you be sure, Albus?"

Devlin spun around at the voice, his body shaking even more. Harry Potter is standing at the doorway into the office. It is clear now where the boy was lacking. Devlin can't breath. Those green eyes bore into him, growing more and more concerned.

The boy rushed to his feet, jumping into Harry Potter's hold.

"Dad!" He yelled, burying his head into the man's middle. Devlin remained frozen.

"I brought the nurse with me," Harry said quietly, motioning to the women who was just about to grab the other boys arm, when the squat old man interrupted her.

"The other boy is much worse, Madam Dodge," he said and immediately her gaze flickered to Devlin, taking in his appearance.

"Oh my," she said nervously, coming towards him. Devlin drew away, stepping backwards. It was too much, looking at Harry Potter well and alive, another boy in his arms. _He fought for this boy_, a vicious voice whispered in his mind. "Don't you want me to heal that wound, dear?" The nurse said, her voice a forced calm that all healers are trained to use with traumatized patients.

"No," Devlin said, automatically. He was afraid what he would feel if he didn't feel the dull throb.

"It has to hurt," the alive-Harry said, his gaze on Devlin, concerned. _He's concerned for you. What, now you have to dream about a dad that wouldn't rather die than be with you?_

"No," he said, truthfully. He hardly felt it. He was used to putting pain out of his mind. Beside that, he didn't want them examining him. They might notice the stone he'd tucked discretely in his robe while the squat old man had been talking into the floo. The one thing _his_ father had protected.

"Well," the alive-Harry said, gently pulling the boy off of him and leaving him standing by the door to take a step toward Devlin, standing beside the nurse. "We're going to have to heal it, buddy, because leaving something like that can be dangerous. Right now you're in shock, but when your body settles down, it will hurt a lot."

Devlin shook his head.

"Let's compromise for a minute then. I'm going to clean you up, alright? At least that way, we can see the real shape you're in. Sound fair?"

Nothing sounded fair, but Devlin didn't have it in him to argue again. He knew in the end his opinion wouldn't matter and so he just stared defiantly at the alive-Harry as he drew his wand, aimed it at Devlin, and muttered a cleaning spell.

Behind the alive-Harry, the other boy giggled at the stuck-up hairdo the cleaning spell left Devlin with. The alive-Harry grinned sheepishly, admitted he had never been good with the spell, and applied a hair neatening charm. It was then, of course, that the expected happened.

It was certainly expected, but Devlin hadn't seen it coming. The ultimate betrayal by his own mind, or the ultimate torture by someone else's.

All the grime was gone from his face. All the powdered stone from Hogwarts crumbling and all the soot from the burning potions, had been lifted from his hair. And now Devlin was looking up at the alive Harry, his eyes sharp, his face unrevealing, and his hair perfectly parted. Now Devlin looked like Tom Riddle, with the same accuracy that this Albus boy looked like this Harry. If an eleven year old Tom Riddle were standing next to him, there would be no contest about who was who, but Devlin is all alone in this cruel dream.

Harry's wand is aimed quite purposefully at him. Devlin looked up at the man through his dark green eyes. He no longer felt so empty - sadness was seeping in at the edges of the emptiness and Devlin knew it was showing through in his eyes. His wet eyes. _I won't cry. _

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked instead, his voice cold to hide the sadness and because if this was a dream, it was a nightmare. This is the fear that has sat coldly in the back of his mind for ages and he hates his mind for making him confront it so visually. If this isn't a dream but a cruel trick, then he is just as angry at the tormenter.

"Albus, get behind me," this Harry said tensely, each word like a tiny bit of Crucio to Devlin, coming from that face and delivered with that voice. "Now!"

Devlin stood up straighter and his own wand fell out from the sleeve of his shirt. Albus scrambled to be behind his father, absolutely confused but knowing when to trust this man.

"I know who you are," this Harry breathed and for a moment, but there is no fear, just that eerie calmness.

Devlin felt like this must be a dream, because this is his _fear_. His one fear about his father - that he only sees Devlin as Tom Riddle. He finds his fists clenching and himself responding as if this were a dream - as if this were his own father.

"It was not me who stole those things and hid them in that wardrobe," Devlin said evenly, keeping his wand visible and ready for a fight, but pointed neutrally at the ground. "It was not me who hung that rabbit from the rafters."

There should be something in those green eyes, but this Harry is eerily calm and it makes Devlin angry. He doesn't want to see that calmness. He wants to see the fight in those eyes that should have been in the real Harry Potter's eyes! Neville, the Albus boy, and the Nurse watch them from by the door, but the squat old man comes to stand beside Harry, peering down at Devlin with the same knowing expression.

"If it was not you, how do you know about those things?" Now there is fight and Devlin smirks at the sight of the emotion in this Harry's eyes.

"My father. He told me about him."

"That narrows who your father could be considerably. Tell me, and don't lie. Who is your father?"

But suddenly Devlin doesn't want to tell him. Suddenly he wants his brain or whoever's brain is behind this cruel game, to admit it for him instead.

"Harry?" Dumbledore interrupted, smiling. Devlin hated that smile. "As you came in, you asked how I could be certain I had not scared the boy, yes? I never did get to answer..." Potter stares at the painting impatiently, like he _used_ to stare at the real Albus Dumbledore when the old man rattled on. "You see, the boy would need to know me to be scared by me, but I have never met this boy in my life..."

Harry Potter frowns.

"He looks an awful lot like-"

"And the resemblance you share with your father is uncanny as well...but we both know that does not make you him."

Harry's eyes shift involuntarily to Snape's portrait.

"Fine, then who are you?"

But Devlin didn't want to tell him he was a Potter. If this was Voldemort's doing, it would be dangerous to connect the name to himself.

"My name is Devlin Augustus," he said softly, but with that power in his voice that his grandfather had taught him. The words merely elicited a blank stare from this Harry, as if he had no idea of the names importance and Devlin felt his stomach sink a bit with nervousness as he realized this couldn't be his dream's doing, but must be someone else's.

"Augustus?" The dark painting asked, his eyes wide, his mouth drawn into a frown, his brow wrinkled.

Devlin turned to Severus Snape, peering at the painting. The man looks older than his own Severus, more shallow, more _mean_. Even so, Severus had always been his secret protector and he clings to the one possible link to reality.

"Yes. It was a name my grandmother wanted to give my father, but she didn't, so he gave it to me."

Recognition flashed across Severus' face and Devlin let a bit of that coldness seep away - perhaps this was his dream after all. It had to be, because no one else knew the importance to Severus that would have been willing to play this mind game with Devlin.

"Where are you from, boy?" The painting asked, his eyes suddenly critical and analytical. Devlin knew this expression well, of course, because Severus was often trying to pick apart Devlin's games.

Where was he from? He lingered on the words, feeling like he must still be missing something.

_You should be intelligent enough to know a galleon is not flat; it has more than two sides._

"I think I'm dreaming," he said softly, afraid to say more. "I thought I was in the past, but I can't be, so I must be dreaming."

"Why would you think you were in the past?" Severus asked.

"He looked like Harry Potter," Devlin said, pointing to the Albus boy, "So I thought I must be in the past."

"But then you realized he wasn't Harry Potter," Severus theorized, raising an eyebrow in his traditional thinking expression.

"Yes, sir."

"That answers how you knew you were not in the past, it does not, however, answer why you suspect you are dreaming."

Devlin frowned.

"I'm not in the past - I must be dreaming."

"What about the future? Wouldn't that explain the Harry Potter look-alike?"

"No."

"You seem so certain."

"Yes, I am certain."

"Care to share where you certainty comes from?" That was not the dark painting but rather the squat old man. Devlin eyed him critically. His head wasn't pounding nearly as much anymore.

"You're Slughorn. You taught at Hogwarts a long time ago. You taught Voldemort."

"I did," the man said, a bit nervously.

"Voldemort killed you in his first uprising."

Slughorn laughed.

"I think I would know if I had died."

"You did. I'm just dreaming you. But my certainty about the future?" He waved a hand dismissively. The bad arm. The nurse shuttered and took a sharp breath. "Harry Potter has two children, and that boy isn't one of them. So I must be dreaming."

"That's certainly a possibility. This dream is a very detailed one if that is what it is - full of things a child would be hard pressed to know," said the painted Dumbledore, his eyes oddly shiny in the painting. _Twinkling._ Devlin scowled. Devlin isn't a regular little boy.

"What other possibility could there be?"

"Well, you could be dreaming, or someone could be making you dream, certainly, or you could be somewhere else - neither past nor future, but somewhere where things went differently."

Devlin frowned.

"Like an alternative timeline? Running parallel with my own?"

"Are you familiar?"

"Kind of...most books about the subject are in the restricted section and Professor Snape made all the professors swear not to give me a pass..."

Snape's eyes narrow a bit.

"You know Professor Snape, then?"

"Yes, but he's not dead in my world." Devlin bites back '_not yet, at least'_. "Neither are you."

"Perhaps I was wiser in your world," Dumbledore said, glancing at the alive Harry and then back at Devlin.

"I couldn't tell you - I don't know how much of a fool you were here."

Dumbledore laughed sadly.

"More a fool than I'd like to remember. A fool from the very beginning of the whole thing."

Devlin looked away. There was much he would have liked to say to Dumbledore, but even in his own mind, he could picture his mothers disappointed face. In fact, he was tempted for a moment to say something especially cutting to Dumbledore just to see if is mother would materialize next to him to correct him for his rudeness.

"I don't believe you ," he said uneasily, "I think someone else is making me dream this."

Dumbledore's regard is heavy and intense, but Devlin doesn't look away, because portraits cannot preform magic. A sad sort of look came to fill the man's face slowly.

"I do not believe there is a thing I could say to sway your disbelief, child. I respect your cautiousness."

"What he's saying is you can think anything you like, but it won't change that this is happening and you're injured and need medical attention," this Harry said, not unkindly but without the fondness in his eyes with which Devlin was so familiar. "You'll have to tell us who you are, or we will have to get the answer ourselves. You will have to be treated for your injuries."

Devlin turned to this him, but Harry Potter was already turning toward the opening door. Professor McGonagall entered, followed closely by a worried-looking Ginny, followed in turn by a little girl, her head half-buried in Ginny's side.

Ginny reached the Albus boy first, her arms opening wide to collect him. She kneeled before him, her hands brushing his shoulders, touching his cheeks, running down his body like a mother looking for injuries.

"I'm alright, Mum," the Albus boy said softly, trying to push Ginny away a bit. Devlin frowned. The little girl had red hair and was about Emma's size. She must be Harry's as well. Which meant she was the cruel alternative to Emma.

"Daddy!" The girl said, oblivious to her father's tense stance and the drawn wands. She flung herself so quickly to her father that Devlin had little chance to see her face, except that she looked an awful lot like Emma.

"Lily, baby, please go back to your mother," Harry whispered, his eyes trained to Devlin again, one hand draped onto the little girls shoulder. Now she seemed to notice Devlin and unburied her face to peer at him.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice so small and innocent - so like Emma's. She had Emma's little dimples, Emma's smattering of freckles, Emma's hair, Emma's little nose - everything that was James' or Lily Potter's was the same on this girl as on Emma. Except her eyes. Her eyes should be blue, but instead the gaze that Devlin meets is brown.

He's not dreaming. No one is making him dream. No one this intent on torturing him would have imagined her with brown eyes. No one would have forgotten her eyes should be blue.

"My name is Devlin," he said, like he was in a daze. Potter had been preparing to push the girl gently towards her mother, but now he seems to have reconsidered. "I'm not dreaming...if I were dreaming, she' have blue eyes. If he was punishing me, he wouldn't have forgotten she has blue eyes."

The little girl frowned and turned to look up at Harry Potter's face.

"If who was punishing you?" Ginny asked, rising from in front of Albus and coming to put her hands around the little girl - ready to draw her back at any sign of danger. Ready to fight for her. There was fear in her eyes, even if her face was calm.

"_Him,_" he said vaguely, because he shouldn't have to say the name. This is the name no one has to say but everyone knows.

"Who?" She repeated, the fear mounting in her eyes.

Devlin's eyes blazed amber at her _making_ him say it and drawing the connection he did not want to have to draw.

"_Voldemort_," he said loudly, feeling his skin heat and his chest pound. He reached out towards the desk and steadied himself against the turmoil of magic inside of himself.

"Voldemort is dead," she said, so calmly, so factually.

Devlin felt part of him break at the declaration. He stared at this Harry Potter. The drumming in his chest and the heat against his skin intensified.

"He is not dead! Harry Potter is alive! Don't lie to me! Tell the truth!"

Devlin's eyes turned amber and that numbness over took him. Suddenly he can breath again. His skin remained burning.

"He died. I killed him. Twenty years ago," this Harry said, taking a step forward, leaving the little girl to Ginny's care. Concern is shimmering in his eyes.

"You killed him?" The words come out before Devlin can stop them and he crumples to the ground. "You _fought_?"

"Of course I fought," Harry replied, as if nothing else made sense. As if Devlin hadn't seen his own father walk to his death, without lifting a finger against it. "Now, please tell us who you are. If you're from an alternative reality, we can see if family would take you in while we figure out how to get you home."

Devlin wiped his face clean, except that now there was blood smeared across it from the still unhealed wound. He looked down the cut, lifted his and, and sealed the wound with one fluid wand movement. It won't heal it entirely and tomorrow he will probably need to have someone more proficient look at the wound, but there is a gasp from the nurse nonetheless.

"That is an advanced seventh year spell!"

Devlin shrugged.

"When you're in war, the year in which spells are _normally_ taught matters very little. They cover healing spells every year. There is a mandatory school-wide event. Lots of Auror's and Mediwitch's come to teach and demonstrate."

"That's an awesome idea," Harry Potter said kindly, trying to keep his voice calm and kind for Devlin's sake. "Healing takes a lot of magic. The sooner you tell us who you are, the sooner you can rest."

"I have lots of magic, Mr. Potter," Devlin said, just as sweetly calm, pulling himself to his feet. "I'm not tired and I'm not telling you my name. Not here. You can't make me either."

Harry Potter regarded him like Devlin was used to the man regarding an especially rough-around-the-edges good guy that he was never going to be quite certain of. Like he wanted to say 'you bet I can't?' but didn't because there was a niggling of doubt in his own mind about whether he'd just make himself look the fool.

"How about you tell me some relatives or family friends you think would watch you, no matter you being from another world."

That was easy.

"Sirius Black - he babysat me a lot before I went to Hogwarts."

Harry's expression turned to one of agonizing pain and a pinch of..._jealousy?_ The Albus boy tugged at his mother's robes, making her bend down to hear him whisper: '_isn't that who James' is named after?_' Ginny nodded.

"He's dead," Harry said.

Devlin tried to swallow a nasty feeling rising up his throat. He can't say Remus Lupin, because Remus will _know_ who Devlin is related too.

"Molly Weasley?" He asked, afraid of the answer. "My mum and dad know her well..."

Ginny frowned.

"She's alive," Ginny said. "But Harry, we'll take him until we find family. He landed on Albus' desk, after all."

Devlin suspected Ginny had little desire to be around a Tom Riddle look-alike but even less of a desire to have her mother with one. Harry eyed Ginny for a long time, until he finally nodded.

"Do you agree, Devlin?" Harry asked, "You will come with me, right? If you don't want to, I'll understand, but I'll have to put you into Ministry possession for the night."

"Like an orphanage?" Devlin asked, somber. Harry nodded. "I'm afraid of them," he answered, which was the truth. Harry looked at him with a bit more concern than suspicion for a moment. In reality, it was not that Devlin was afraid of being left on his own or of being in an orphanage, but rather it was his fear that an orphanage was the _one_ thing separating him from Voldemort, just as it had Harry Potter from Tom Riddle.

Harry gave him one more quizzical look and then turned to Minerva.

"Since there is no protocol for possible universe jumping, expect to fill out some non-standardized forms for me tomorrow. Have a calming draught ready."

Minerva nodded sharply, eying Devlin with that same suspicious regard.

"Be good Albus. I'll call you through the mirror tonight, alright?"

"Alright dad."

"Ginny, you going to say hello to James?"

"I figured I would, if I'm here already."

"Alright. Meet you at home."

Harry's eyes turned to Devlin once more and he offered his hand. Devlin took the hand, trying not to look too long into those green eyes. He felt like if he dwelled in them he would be trapped forever in his last moments with his father.

This Harry's hand and his Harry's hand feel the same. Potter looked down at him, his expression kind if also a bit tired and exasperated. He was speaking; his lips curled up at the sides, like they always were when he was explaining something to Devlin or Emma for the first time. Devlin doesn't even register the words, he's too busy taking in the expression. _I don't want to forget these things,_ he told himself. When he goes home,

there will be no Harry Potter there to smile like this.

"Did you hear me?" He finally said, bending down in front of Devlin so that Devlin snapped back into focus.

"No, sir," he said, feeling like he didn't want to upset this man at all. He didn't want to see Harry Potter angry. He was going to burn all of these images into his head. This Harry was making him think of his Harry and he promised himself he'd remember everything he was remembering now, forever.

His change in attitude must have been a surprise, because Harry cocks his head a bit and frowns in his half-sided way.

"I said we're going to floo to my house. I'm going to hold onto you."

"Alright."

**How did you like it? Better than before? The first chapter is certainly longer now! 7,349 pages! What will happen with the stone? **

**Please review if you enjoyed it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 3 now rewritten (or will be as soon as it loads)**

**A/N: Hope you enjoy this update. Some things have changed in this chapter so I do recommend a re-read. I had a lovely review that really motivated me to get this chapter done and published. I haven't had any questions about the Resurrection stone, but it WILL feature in the story. Obviously Devlin has no idea what it is, or what his father's real plan had been. Please review! Me knowing other people are enjoying this make me more motivated to get it out there. **

**And yes, Devlin Potter: Part Two will be being updated soon too. I'm using this story as a way to sort of flesh out what happens to Devlin in that story, if that makes sense. **

**Also, I'll be using chapter 5 with the grandmother story as the 'update' chapter so everyone gets a warning that it is 'updated' when a chapter is rewritten. **

OoOoOoOoO

They landed in the living room and before Devlin's mind said 'this is the same', it thought 'where is Zee?', but no dog came to greet them. Harry Potter was on the floor, covered in soot. Devlin was standing, not a spec on him.

"You're awfully good at that," Harry said, grinning goofishly. It was an expression that Devlin expected to see on Sirius' face, not on Harry Potter's. It was Harry's job to be serious and hardened. It was supposed to be a difficult game to make Harry Potter laugh. A game only won by Emma, mother, and he.

"Or perhaps, more likely, you are so horrible at it that you make me look very good."

"Yeah maybe," Harry said, sounding bemused as he brushed himself off. Devlin wondered why he doesn't just use a spell. "How about some tea before a tour?"

Devlin knew what tea meant to his father and he bet it meant the same to this Harry: _lets go and try to have a pleasant conversation about something rather unpleasant. _Devlin nodded and allowed himself to be lead into the kitchen, nevertheless. It was never a good idea to say no to Harry Potter's attempts at small talk.

The kitchen was bright and cheery, filled with nicknacks that had no use. Devlin stared at the frivolous things. A pot of charmed flowers on the table, a set of cooking tools made to look like flying brooms. Salt and pepper shakers shaped like two Snitches. Little stone eggs meant to look like dragon eggs.

His parents don't own anything frivolous. Devlin knew it wasn't a difference in money, because he has seen his parent's vault. No, he rather thought his mother simply hasn't the time to wander around shopping for things that would only sit and collect dust. Besides, his parent's spend their money on more practical things: tutoring for Devlin, wards, weapons, back up wands, spell books, secret keepers, trips for hunting Horcruxes, and other war related expenses.

Harry was putting on the kettle, glancing over his shoulder every once in a while at Devlin.

"Haven't you ever seen a kitchen before?" He asked. Harry half expected the boy to say 'no', because Harry seriously wondered what sort of a world this boy _had_ come from. A world with Voldemort, that was clear enough. Not a good world. He had the haunted look on his face that had filled his, Ron and Hermione's features while they had been out hunting Horcruxes. If his world is still at war, this boy may never have lived a normal life.

"You have a lot of nicknacks, like the Headmaster."

"Doesn't your mum buy nicknacks?" Harry asked, trying to sound light. Trying to gauge how bad off this child's world had been.

"No, but we do have a rather large collection of ancient Goblin writings that she leaves around the house..." Harry raised an eyebrow. "And er...dad collects some flying stuff, I guess."

Harry shrugged. "Everyone is different."

"Yes."

"Whats your mum do?" Harry asked, as he took the kettle off, poured the tea into two cups, and brought them over to the table. How close to the war was this boy? By the fact that Sirius Black and Molly Weasley had been the first two people he mentioned as babysitters, Harry knew he had to be closer than the average child. Maybe his parents were in the Order.

"She installs wards for the Ministry and Dumbledore and breaks them too." There was a serious look to the boys face as he said this. He took one of the cups and held it between his hands, as if he were drawing in the warmth. _Like Hermione when she's weary. _

"That must be a very interesting job. She must be very powerful."

"Yes," he said, short and clipped and with that edge of _I'm not sure I should be talking to you about this._ But something compelled the boy to answer anyways.

"And your dad?"

"He's Head Auror."

Harry grins and motions with his hand in an excited way.

"Yeah? Me too!"

"Oh, cool," Devlin said, trying to make his voice rise up to meet the level of excitement. Somehow he just couldn't manage to withhold a trace of sarcasm and Harry looked at him funny for a second. They lapse into silence for a while. Then Harry looked up from his tea and Devlin knew the pleasant part of the conversation was over.

"You know, I will need to know your full name, right?" Harry asked, lifting his tea and taking a sip, watching the child.

"Oh, you mean we weren't simply having a spot of tea, Mr. Potter?" Devlin replied, his tone sarcastic with an edge of humor to take off the edge. "I know. My father is Head Auror, after all. I know that's why _we_ came here and your wife and daughter are somewhere else - waiting for you to tell them I am safe. I know you won't let me stay here until you know who I am and if I am safe."

Harry nodded softly, still sipping his tea, and wondering to himself how such a young boy could communicate like such an adult. James would be hard pressed to understand his little nod or the reason Ginny wasn't home yet. It didn't sit well with Harry, just like his haunted eyes.

"So you will tell me?"

"Yes, I will." He rested his hands atop the table and took a breath, but no words followed. Harry waited, even as a wrinkle grew between the boys eyebrows, as the tips of his lips pressed in, and as his eyes crept downward. Silence.

Harry had suspicions and if he were correct, he could certainly understand the child's hesitancy. Harry couldn't imagine a more awkward connection to draw to oneself.

"Are you Voldemort's - your Voldemort's?" Another sip of tea, another swallow down his dry throat at the idea of having to say the name once more. "I won't judge you on it, I promise."

"I..." Devlin looked away. _Yes,_ he thought to himself, _I'm his, in more than blood. _Then he remembered the look that had filled the man's eyes back at Hogwarts when he'd said '_I know who you are'. _"No," he lied.

"Then who are you?"

"I'm a Potter." Apparently it wasn't as hard to say those words as he had been making it for himself. He looked up to find this Harry frozen, the teacup an inch from his lips which were parted already. There was tea dribbling out of the cup, but Harry didn't seem to notice. Devlin grabbed a napkin from the broomstick napkin holder on the table and cleaned up the mess, stretching across the table to pull the cup away from this Harry's tight grasp. Devlin settled the cup on the table and the _clink_ as it touched the wood seemed to bring Harry back to his senses.

"A Potter?"

"Yes, sir. My name is Devlin Augustus Potter."

"Were there...is there more than, ah, one Potter in your world?"

"No, just Harry Potter, sir. He's Head Auror."

Harry nodded slowly and uncertainly.

"Are you saying...are you saying you're mine? Well not mine," he waved a dismissive and confused hand, "but my...the other Harry's son?"

"Yes, sir," he said, trying to keep his words to a minimal. This Harry looked like his mind was running while his feet were frozen.

"I take it I'm not married to Ginny, there?"

"Why do you say?"

"Well ah...nicknacks are Ginny's sort of thing and Goblin lore certainly _isn't_, besides, you don't look a thing like Ginny or I...do you look like your mother?"

Devlin shook his head, looking down at the table. He'd have to tell him. He just looked too much like Voldemort for Harry to drop the line of questioning entirely.

"You look like Tom Riddle, you know," he said, almost kindly, like he were giving Devlin validation for his questioning but apologizing for it at the same time.

"I know," he said, sighing as he got up and threw the tea-soaked napkin away in the rubbish bin. It is in the same place, at the end of the island, as in his world. He stood there and fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve and chewed on his bottom lip. Like his father. None of Harry's children acquired this habit from him, but seeing this boy, his eyes downcast and his shoulders slumped in uncertainty, chewing his lip and fiddling with his sleeve...it made Harry remember himself as a boy.

"Blood is nothing to be ashamed about," Harry said softly. He felt like he were talking to himself, for a moment. The child actually laughed, hunching his shoulders more. The fringe of his hair kept his eyes from view, just like they had with Harry as a boy.

"_You can say that, because you are not afraid,"_ the child hissed. Harry frowned, struggling to understand. He could no longer speak Parseltongue, but he had found over the years that he did understand most things, still. Obviously, this boy thought Harry would be able to speak to him.

"I'm not afraid, no. I lost my fear of Tom Riddle long ago. He was just a troubled boy who tried too hard to protect himself against his fears. You must be related, though."

Those green eyes snapped to his, light to dark. There was an incredulous look on his face.

"Yes...my mother. Grandma didn't tell my mother until she met me. She'd run away from the wizarding world when she was still pregnant and raised my mum as a muggle." To this day, he's certain they still would have loved each other had they known, but he's not certain they would have had him, or Emma. It is a curse, to know you are related to the most horrible monster the wizarding world has known.

"Oh, that must have been quite a shock," Harry said, surprised. So this child_ was_ actually related - to Voldemort and Harry...

"I don't know. I was very little." He shrugged and began to move towards the table again, when suddenly the hallway flashed green. Years of the floo lighting the hallway in such a way have diluted Harry's war-reactions, but he recognized them in the child instantly. Devlin froze with his fingers turned up towards his wand holster, having caught himself before withdrawing the wand. He has seen the killing curse.

"Harry?" It is Hermione's voice. Harry had been expecting Ginny, but immediately knew his wife had run to the comfort of her brother. This would have been too good for Hermione to keep herself away from.

"In the kitchen, Hermione!"

Devlin eyed him just feet away from the table and Harry turned quickly to him. "Do you know Hermione?"

"Yes," he said, then, seeing Harry's expectancy added, "she's alive."

It is only a moment before Hermione appeared at the kitchen door.

"Ginny asked me to come by. She'll be along shortly. Lily and Hugo are going to have a sleep over with Ron." She came slowly into the room, eying the child. "She said a boy fell onto Albus' work table in Potions. I thought maybe Neville had been reincarnated. Then she told me he appeared to be from an alternative timeline, and I at once told her that Ron was _not_ who needed to be here with you."

"Hermione! Are you telling me you are putting my daughter and your son in jeopardy by leaving them alone with _Ronald_, just so you can satisfy that brain of yours?"

"Absolutely. They're both of Weasley blood - they'll survive."

Harry laughed and Devlin turned at the sound, eying him quizzically. It is the second time the child has regarded him strangely over his happiness. The thought made Harry's smile falter. What was the other Harry like?

Hermione regarded the boy as well, intense curiosity mixing with her analytical thoughts. Like the boy were a puzzle. Harry supposed, to Hermione, he rather was like a puzzle.

"Hello," Devlin says softly, with a politeness about him that, if worn by any of Harry's children, would have made Harry suspect they had just done something wrong. Somehow, it doesn't make Harry think that about this boy at all. _Manners._ This child has much better manners than his own children.

What was the other Harry like?

Hermione shakes herself from her thoughts to reply.

"Hello...Devlin, right?"

"Yes, Mrs._ Weasley_." Hermione's gaze narrows at his stress on her last name, but she doesn't fall for his bait. Not yet. The war had taught Hermione some prudence and patience.

"Ginny asked me to see if you'd told Harry your last name, yet." She said evenly, her voice kind and encouraging. She smiled.

"Yes, I did," he said, his voice polite, his eyes flashing. Harry rather thought he were giving as little as he could, unwilling to fall for Hermione's bait just as he had been unwilling to fall for his. This was a child who knew how to play a strategy game. Hermione laughed nervously, a bit uncomfortable by the sharpness of the child's eyes.

"Go ahead, Devlin, tell her. I want to see her face," Harry said, leaning back in his chair a bit until it was balancing on two legs. Devlin turned to him and for a fleeting second there is that _look_ again at Harry's happiness, but then he is turning around and dutifully following the directions. He certainly knew what Harry wanted out of him telling Hermione, because he pulled himself up and then _bowed_ a bit, before offering his hand to Hermione. Harry thought of Draco, but then tried to shake the connection.

"My name is Devlin Augustus Potter," he said, his voice sharp, crisp, and confident. Hermione's whole face _pinches_ for a second as her mind comes to terms with the new information and quickly puts her whole world back into order. It is a much more dignified process than _Harry's_ brain had managed. Still, Harry laughed.

"Oh, Hermione, I love surprising you!" He let his chair fall back onto four legs and ignored Hermione's sharp hiss of _prat_.

Devlin looked between the two of them, frowning.

"Are we very different in this world?" Hermione asked and Harry found himself holding his breath, waiting for the child's answer.

"You're happier," Devlin said after a moment.

Hermione took a seat at the table and Devlin paused before sitting at the end of the table, leaving a chair between them all.

"Why are we happier?" Hermione asked, although Harry suspected Ginny had already told her about the Voldemort part.

"My world is just different," Devlin said.

"Ginny told me Voldemort is still alive in your world."

"Yes." They're back to the sharp clipped _I-wont-say-more-than-I-have-to_ tone.

"That must be difficult," she said, kindly. Harry notes the one-second scowl that flitters across Devlin's face and thinks the boy doesn't take too well to pity.

"I suppose it all depends on how capable one is of protecting themselves," he said, folding his arms across his chest. Harry furrows his brow at the answer - an answer he would have expected of Alastor or Snape.

"And you, how good are you?"

"Very," he said simply, and his lips turned up just slightly in a shadow of a smirk.

Harry wanted to laugh at the _child's_ look of certainty, but he made himself stay silent. Hermione arched a brow in challenge, but the child just smirked. If he were older Harry would compare it to someone who knew their power well enough not to need to brag. But he is only a child.

The floo flared to life again. Harry noted the boy's shoulders tense, but his hand doesn't reach for his wand, this time.

"I don't like the floo," Devlin said softly, looking into the hallway, "it's the color, I suppose."

Hermione's gaze shot to his and Harry nodded to his silent question '_he's seen the killing curse?'. _

"Harry?" It is Ginny of course. The first thing that came into Devlin's mind was 'Aunt Ginny', but Harry isn't looking into the hallway with the look he would have, had he been waiting for 'Aunt Ginny. This Harry is looking into the hallway with the same regard Devlin's father would wear waiting for Alexandra to enter a room.

"In the kitchen, Gin," Harry called back and a moment later her warm brown eyes and red hair came into the room. She paused at the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Hey. How are you feeling, Devlin?" There was a weariness in her eyes and a slight fear in her posture, although Devlin wasn't sure it was entirely for him as much as the person he looked like. It would be her that would fear him the most - her whose mind was invaded by the boy who looked most like him. Harry was tortured by a monster who looked just as the name implied, but Ginny was tortured by a boy who was also a monster. A boy who looked just like Devlin.

"I'm alright," he said, trying to keep his words to a minimum. He sounds most like his grandfather when he rambles; they share the same almost-hiss to their words. As a young child Devlin's mother had thought it a very cute lisp.

"Oh good," she said. She fidgeted for a moment before coming into the room and then fidgeted some more as she eyed the table. There were two seats left and they are both next to Devlin.

Devlin smiled in a charming and understanding way and got up with his tea cup, moving to sit next to Hermione. Ginny made to protest, but Harry patted the seat next to him and Ginny fell down into it with a sigh of relief. Devlin hid his slight annoyance that he always felt when others showed him so clearly their weaknesses.

"So, tell me what I missed," she said, her eyes carefully trained on Hermione. Her hands were shaking, ever so slightly, and she reached out to steal her husbands tea to hide her nervousness. Harry draped an arm around her shoulders causally. Her eyes flickered to Harry and Devlin knew Harry saw the fear in them.

"Well, Devlin did tell me his last name," Harry began, hoping to quell that fear, Devlin was certain.

"Wonderful!" She exclaimed and took in a relaxing breath. "Maybe we can find some relatives for you to stay with here, like Harry suggested," she continued and for the first time, her eyes were on Devlin - as if he were now a mere Bogart, rather than the real thing. Devlin looked away. Harry tried to shush her enthusiasm. Perhaps she didn't realize that he knew why she was so suddenly happy - the idea that she wouldn't have to look into Tom Riddle's face anymore, or perhaps she was just too relieved to hide the fact from him. Either way, Devlin looked away.

"What, Harry?" She asked, because he was giving her a pleading look, his arm no longer around her neck but covering one of her hands. "It would be better for the boy to be with family, even if they aren't exactly the same. You said so!"

Harry looked across the table at him with those Killing Curse green eyes that no longer look so happy and casual but are now filled with dread and sympathy and pleading. Devlin stood up. He doesn't want to be near this. He doesn't know if he can live through one more Harry Potter not protecting him. Devlin might be a Potter, but he isn't really a Potter here, not where it counts.

So Devlin escaped into the hallway instead and leaned agains the wall, so that they couldn't see him. If he were a regular boy, he'd be crying now, devastated at the possibility that Harry wouldn't stand up for him. If he were a regular boy, he'd be acting like his dorm mates their first night in first year.

Devlin wasn't a normal boy. He checked his face, but he hasn't been crying. He laid a hand over his heart, but it is beating slow and steady, because even in uncertainty and overwhelming situations, his heart won't betray him. He held his hand out before him, but it wasn't shaking.

'_Make pretty lights for me,'_ Emma would demand, if she came to him after a nightmare. '_They make me feel better_.' Devlin found himself making her pretty lights, only it didn't seem to be calming him at all. His hands shook and the pretty lights turned subconsciously into puffs of colored smoke as his eyes focused on the living room, trying to drown out the talking in the kitchen.

"That's a neat trick," Hermione said, coming up next to him in the hallway. Devlin turned to her slowly and blinked. He looked down at his hands and stopped immediately. Ever since he had seen that night in Voldemort's mind, he's had trouble being in the living room without it surfacing in his mind.

"Sorry," he said automatically.

"Why?" She asked and of course then it occurred to Devlin that he needn't have apologized, because she had no idea. He looked away and she continued, attempting to fill the silence so that he cannot hear Harry and Ginny arguing in the room behind them. "I thought it was cute. Maybe you would show me how you did it? Who taught you? It's actually quite impressive that you can do that kind of wandless magic."

'_Harry, are you sure?'_

'_He told me-'_

'_He could have lied!'_

'_Why?'_

'_He looks like Tom Riddle!'_

'_Yeah, with good reason.'_

'_So he is related?' - _This comment is said with a whimper.

"Devlin? Did you hear me?"

He snapped his eyes to her face and glared. He hated people who rambled just as a way to distract him. He hated distraction.

"I heard you," he snarled. "But I won't do it again and I won't show you. I made a mistake. I won't do it here. It's what my Grandpa was doing when Voldemort came to that door!" He threw his arm towards the front door. Hermione went pale. She put her hands in her pockets and nodded.

"Do you know much about him - Voldemort, I mean?"

"Yes," he said. She looked ready to ask him more, just so he couldn't hear them in the kitchen, and so he saved her the air and him the aggravation and continued. "I know lots about Voldemort. I know how to survive him. I know how to prove your value to him. Do you know how?" Her eyes are wide and full of pain and pity and also morbid curiosity. Devlin is angry now. Angry at her distraction. Angry at she thought she would make him make small talk with her.

"No...I don't..."

"You don't scream. You don't look away. No matter how much he hurts you, you prove you are more fun alive than dead. Only powerful people are any fun. I would know - I kept myself alive for four years."

"You were...captured?"

"When I was four."

"But they...you got rescued."

"Yeah, when I was eight."

"And all that time...he tortured you? Oh, Devlin - I..." Her hands were trembling, her lips were quivering, and her mouth was drawn back and down. There was fear in her eyes. Fear that he had put there. Suddenly that rush of power and control falters. It was always that fear in their eyes that ruined it for him.

"No!" He looked away. He doesn't want to tell her the truth - that for the most part it had been the opposite of torture. "I learned to be what he wanted and when Voldemort is getting what he wants, he's...he doesn't hurt you." It was all true. He can't lie to these people - he suspected this Harry would be willing to employ many truth-testing methods on him that his own father wouldn't dream of getting near Devlin.

It had gone quiet in the kitchen. Devlin shoved himself off the wall to see if the argument was over in the kitchen, only to find that this Harry and Ginny were standing stock still in front of the table, listening to _him_


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I am sadly one of those people from a NJ barrier island so while I did evacuate, the family I stayed with ended up without any internet. We did keep power though, so I can't complain. Anyways, it's given me some time to write, but that's why I haven't posted. **

**I am taking a quick (week long) trip internationally and don't expect to post from over there, but if I got a huge influx of reviews, I might be tempted. ;) I'll bring all my writings from now with me on my iPad and try to do some writing in my down time. OR, I mean, you could impress me before Wednesday and I'd post BEFORE I left, certainly. ;)**

**Hope you guys like this chapter. There is a lot of rewriting, so it definitely deserves a reread. **

Harry Potter's eyes are blazing, all that kindness and happiness smoldering to ashes, making room for flashes of anger and fury and _fight_. If Voldemort were here now, Devlin would be safe. This Harry wouldn't leave him. This Harry wouldn't let Voldemort _near_ him. This Harry who _fought_. This Harry has something his Harry didn't, and Devlin wished he'd met this man before his father had decided he'd had enough. Maybe Devlin could have given his father whatever had made this Harry fight.

"I didn't know," Ginny was saying and it sounded like she might be crying, but Devlin can't draw his eyes away from the _fight_ in Harry's eyes to look at her face. "Oh Merlin, Devlin...I didn't know."

Harry looked away and Devlin was able to free his own gaze. Now he looked at Ginny; her eyes wide with tears gathering at the edges, her hand covering her mouth.

"Didn't know I was a Potter or didn't know I was tortured?" He asked, because it is a sore point for him; his appearance is usually forgiven once people learn he has been tortured.

"Either!" She said sharply.

"What do you mean about learning to be what Voldemort wanted?" This Harry finally asked, his voice deep and rumbling, his eyes still so alive with that fight. Devlin won't lie to himself by saying he hadn't been expecting the question to come from this Harry's mouth, because it was the question that would have come from his father's mouth as well. In his father's eyes there would have been fear and apprehension, but there was only anger and fight in these emerald eyes. Devlin stared at him, surprised and somehow eager to memorize this different reaction.

"I meant what I said." He shrugged, uncomfortable. "I learned to be a boy he'd want to have around."

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked. Devlin did not turn to her, his gaze was locked with Harry's still, taking in the emotions in them.

"It means I do not deserve your pity," he said. He waited for the fear that would have been in his father's eyes to enter this Harry's eyes, but it doesn't. "It means I have done things you would call 'terrible'." There is still no fear in Harry's eyes and Devlin realized that there wouldn't be; this is not _his_ Harry. This man has no reason to fear a boy who barely comes up to his chin - a boy without a Voldemort to guide or influence him. This Harry has already faced his fear of Voldemort and come out triumphant.

"Fear can convince us to do terrible things, even after be believe we've stopped feeling it," Harry said. There was assurance and determination and kindness in those eyes instead of the fear. It made Devlin feel strange. More like a regular boy and less like The Dark Lord's Heir. The words stick to Devlin unlike anything he's ever heard before. _Even after we believe we've stopped feeling it... _

Was this what his father had meant, when he'd always tried to convince Devlin that he _had_ been afraid? Devlin had been too busy defending his pride.

"Will you let me stay here, Mr. Potter? I won't be any trouble, I promise." There was a tightness in his chest and a stillness in his heart as every fiber of his being waited for their response. He wanted to be here; wanted to see those green eyes, so lacking of fear for him. He wanted to see himself as this man saw him.

"We couldn't imagine you staying anywhere else."

Devlin's eyes snapped away from Harry's emerald gaze and onto the warm brown ones, surprised to hear those words coming from Ginny.

"Thank you," he said breathlessly. She smiled at him, still nervous but with a certainty in her eyes. Harry Potter was smiling when he turned around to look again, and it reached into his emerald eyes and made them sparkle.

"Why don't we all come sit down again?" Harry offered, motioning to the table. Devlin waited until everyone was seated. There was a seat free between Hermione and Ginny, but Devlin took the one next to Harry.

"So, how old are you, Devlin?" Hermione asked, sipping at a summoned cup of tea. There are snitches zooming around the edges of the cup. Devlin lifted his own cup to stare at them for a moment, bemused by the odd little things that, in his mind, had no real place in this house. But this wasn't _his_ house, he reminded himself.

"I'm twelve," Devlin said easily.

"Just like Albus," Ginny whispered to Harry. Devlin frowned at the comparison, not quite certain why she had made it at all. He chose not to comment.

"Do you go to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, resting her head against her folded arms, elbows atop the table.

"I do."

Harry's eyes lit up, just like his own father's eyes would have. Devlin assumed that both these Harry's considered Hogwart's to be their 'first home'.

"Tell us what house you're in? What is your favorite class? Do you have any friends?" There was an easiness and lack of worry in this Harry's voice that Devlin's own father could never have achieved.

"Charm's is my favorite class," he said, fiddling with his tea cup. "Professor Flitwick says I'm like my grandmother at Charms. I have friends. I'm in Slytherin." No one seemed surprised at his sorting and instead Harry is leaning forward and Devlin thought his focus would probably be on the Charm's bit.

"What do you like about Charm's?" Harry asked eagerly.

"The feel of the magic between my fingers when I'm undoing it's threads, unweaving it's pattern...or when I'm weaving it into something new and different." He twisted his fingers above his teacup and suddenly there was a little Snitch floating in the air. "The Professor says I am 'attuned' to the magic and that it is something we have, not something we learn." He chose not to mention that Flitwick had said he could do things Lily could never do, or that Devlin knew who his 'attunement' came from. He did not want to say 'Voldemort' or 'Tom' in front of Ginny, for fear that she might take back his invitation to stay. Now there was one blue Snitch racing across his cup, followed by three gold.

"That's amazing. I can't do that sort of thing," Harry said, staring at the cup.

"Dad says his magic and my magic are like opposites," Devlin said softly, watching the blue Snitch. He could feel Harry's eyes on him, trying to decipher what the other Harry might have meant about this strange boy sitting at his kitchen table.

"Do you have any siblings?" Ginny asked, breaking the silence. Devlin looked up into her eyes and nodded.

"Yes, a little sister," he said softly. He took a sip of tea.

"How old is she?" Ginny pressed, trying to change the subject to lighter things.

"She just turned ten," Devlin replied, leaving the emotion out of his voice.

"That's my Lily's age," Ginny said, smiling. "What is her name?"

"Emma," he said.

"She has blue eyes, right?" Ginny asked and somehow she managed to make the reminder of Devlin's meltdown sound half-comforting.

"Yes, like my mum." Ginny smiled.

Suddenly there was a bell-like sound and the clock set in the kitchen corner that Devlin hadn't noticed before, moved to '_evening'. _Ginny looked around at the sound and then back at Devlin.

"We should get you into some clean clothes before dinner, Devlin," she said, standing up. Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'll go with him. I think we can shrink some of James' clothing." He smiled. "I think you're a bit taller than Al."

"I could just Transfigure these, sir," he said softly. He didn't want to upset this James' fellow by borrowing his clothing. He knew from his dorm mates that others could be very 'sensitive' about their belongings. Harry gave him an odd look, as if Devlin had misspoken or made some social gaffe.

"There is no need - you can borrow some of James'. We even have some of his clothing from last year that might be just right." He held out his hand for Devlin's teacup and put both of theirs in the sink. Once more Devlin wondered why he hadn't used magic to accomplish the task. "Come on, I'll show you where we keep the out grown clothing."

They headed into the living room and turned a corner. There was the old broom closet, of course. Devlin had almost forgotten it existed. In fact, he was just now hit with the realization that his father must have removed it while he was with Voldemort. It was were he had hidden, during the first raid. Before he had dashed out for his mother and been bitten by Remus, saving him from the Killing Curse.

"My father never liked that closet," Devlin said seriously. All the memories were coming back. His father had never liked Devlin being inside of the closet at all - even when Devlin had sworn as a three year old that it was the perfect fort. His father had built him a magical fort that weekend. When Devlin would hide in there, Harry would take him out immediately. Once Devlin had locked himself inside of the cupboard and had banged his fists against the door until he was saved. His father had looked distraught.

Devlin was never completely sure why his father had hated it so much, but Devlin had known even as a three year old that it was a deep hurt, something that had been there for so long that his father couldn't help it or shake it away. Harry turned to him and looked at him oddly again and there was that shimmer in his eyes again, like when Devlin had turned around from putting the soaked napkin in the rubbish bin.

"No, I suppose neither of us would like it much...I suppose I've never thought of it much. It just has boxes in it," he said, opening the door. "Do you live here then - at Godric's Hallow?" Devlin nodded. He could remember the closet being long and narrow, just enough room that two people could have stood side-by-side and long enough that Devlin could lay out a blanket and read a book. The only clutter had been a couple of shoes and his father's work clothes. There is no room for a fort or hide out in this closet - it _is_ full of boxes. There are no shoes or robes - this is not a door that must be opened daily.

"I used to hide in this closet," Devlin said, somehow unable to stop himself. It was either speak of this small memory, or say something foolish like 'did you know my father died?' "Dad never liked when I did that. He didn't like me using it as a fort either. He made me a magical fort after I whined that I liked the closet..."

There is a pained look on this Harry's face and Devlin gets the sense that this Harry has the same fear about the closet, but it is a more dull fear. If Albus or Lily had hidden in here, Devlin doesn't think he would have insisted otherwise. He's gone subconsciously out of his way not to open this door too often, but the pain doesn't seem as deep as Devlin's father's pain. _My dad must have wanted to remember something..._

"Did he tell you why he didn't like you playing in it?" Harry asked, as he levitated a box out of the closet. Devlin shook his head. "Then it's probably not my place to tell you."

"There are a lot of things my dad won't tell me about his fears, but I know he wasn't happy when he was little." Devlin looked back at the closet. "Grandfather used to lock me in a small room and demand I prove I was a wizard by transfiguring whatever was there into a bed and blanket for the night...did...did that happen to you?"

"My Aunt didn't like magic."

"Yeah, that's right..."

Harry looked at him sharply for a moment, let the box land on the ground, and then said very softly, "I lived in a broom closet until I went to Hogwarts."

Devlin looked at him. It was the first time he had learned anything about Harry's life, except Harry-hunting, and Devlin felt a bit of him break at the fact that his own father hadn't told him. He felt a bit more connected to the man before him and to his own father. They had both been punished.

Harry pulled out a pair of Muggle trousers and a long sleeve shirt that also looked Muggle made. He dug around for a bit more and came up with what looked like pajamas, except that Devlin had never worn muggle pajamas.

"Want to go try them on?"

"I don't need to, sir. I can make them fit."

Harry smiled smally at him for a moment.

"Want to go put this pair on then? I'll put this box up in the guest room. It has some other winter clothes." Devlin nodded and went into the hallway to the bathroom.

The clothes fit him fine and rather than alter them magically he pulled up the cuffs on the pants a bit and on the shirt. He'd rather not mess with someone else's belongings. He had no desire to upset anyone while he was here. He transferred the little stone and his shrunken backpack carefully to his new pants and then he looked in the mirror. He looked so different out of robes and with a shirt that had "you couldn't handle me even if I came with instructions" written across the front. A muggle shirt, surely.

He padded out of the bathroom in socked feet. He hadn't realized how much blood and dirt he'd been around or that his shoes had been covered in it all until he'd peeled them off is feet and had to wash his hands. He'd clean them later - right now they were tucked in the bathroom and he hoped Ginny wouldn't mind.

Hermione and Ginny were absent from the kitchen. It was only Harry, sitting moodily over a cup of something that smelled like liquor. Devlin knew this mood from his own father. He was overwhelmed and didn't know what to think. He'd always told Devlin he was 'thinking too much' at times like these.

"Hello, sir," Devlin said quietly. There was still the soft light of sunset through the kitchen curtains and Devlin felt awkward, because he usually ran into his father like this in the middle of the night.

"Oh, hey Devlin," he said casually, swallowing the last drop in the cup and using magic to send it to the sink. Devlin frowned - _now_ he was using magic? "How did they fit?"

"Fine, sir," he said again, walking slowly to the table. His father was always soft and kind and relaxed after he'd had a glass of liquor, but Devlin was well aware of liquor could effect everyone differently.

"No shoes?" He asked, motioning to Devlin's socked feet.

"No sir...they were dirty."

"You mean they were covered in dirt and blood," he said, like it were a simple fact. Like he were relaxed enough to be blunt. No more 'spot of tea', Devlin thought. He tipped his head a little to look at Devlin more closely. "There wasn't enough blood on Albus or you to ruin your shoes, you know. I just got done talking to Professor Slughorn - he wanted to let me know there was nothing with blood on it in his classroom, except a mark where you had fallen and a few drops from Albus' hand."

Devlin's hand had been laid on the back of a chair, ready to pull it out and sit down, but now his hand falls limply to his side. He felt his stomach flip-flop painfully and he took a step away from this Harry, who only seemed like a ghost at the moment.

"Where did the blood come from Devlin?" This Harry pressed, his green eyes sharp and haunted with worry. There was so much worry there - for a boy that was neither truly his nor that he knew at all. Devlin marveled at the emotion that came so easily to his father and not to him. Devlin took another step backwards.

"Devlin?" There was concern there now, too. Devlin felt his breath come quicker, his body betraying him. He felt like he was speaking to a ghost. He backed up again, only to bump into Ginny, who was looking at him with the same worry, except he didn't think she'd heard Harry's question, so her worry is more for what he must look like. Frightened. He must look frightened.

"Devlin?" His eyes spun to Harry again, sharp and haunted and unyielding. He knew he wouldn't stop until he'd told him everything and Devlin didn't have it in him to even begin, so he turned away and ran towards the back door, pulling it open and dashing into the cold air. He hadn't realized it was winter, but he doesn't let the snow bother him, and continues running, his socks freezing cold, his hands tingling as he pulls himself up from a drop.

Harry was behind him in an instant, but Devlin dashed for the small wooden area behind the property. He swung around trees, slid under a fallen trunk, and ducked beneath a bush to transform. His feet weren't cold any longer and he stopped shivering immediately.

"Devlin!" Potter called, sounding desperate. Devlin's heart was still beating erratically and it was only because he was a wolf that he managed at all to keep the image of his father dying at bay. "Devlin!"

It was hours before Harry went back into the house and Devlin slunk out of the bush. He wandered toward the front of the house, where children too young for Hogwarts or who weren't magical, were playing in the snow. There was a calm about the street that Devlin's home had never had.

It was cold and Devlin was now wet. If he were home, he would have had places to go, but here he had nowhere. No Death Eaters who would be obligated to take him for the night, no Voldemort, no Aunt Hermione or Maria.

A little girl spotted him and raced across the street, stretching her hand out and making soft cooing noises. Devlin eyed her soft eyes and rosy cheeks. Her hands were covered in mittens, her legs in some bulky type of pants and her body in a decidedly muggle jacket.

"Hi, Puppy," she said softly. No adult called her back. There were no adults outside at all, although all the lights were on and he thought probably some where watching from the windows. No children played like this outside of his house. "Aww, don't be afraid. It's cold out, you know."

"What are you doing Becky?" Someone finally shouted across the street at the girl. An older boy.

"There's a puppy here. I was telling it to go home...maybe it doesn't have a place to go."

She was looking at him again with her soft innocent eyes that reminded him of Emma.

Emma would trust this Harry. Emma would go back into that house. Emma would never have run away. Devlin had always wondered what house Emma would be sorted into, but for that one moment, he was positive it would be Gryffendor, because she is braver than him, in some ways. She doesn't need secrets to feel safe.

He inches away from the girl, who now frowns worriedly.

"If you haven't a place, puppy - I'm sure mummy would let you sleep in my room for tonight..."

He shook his head and like the little child she was, her face light up - not with disbelief or amazement, but with joy in something understanding her. He looked pointedly toward the Potter house and inched toward the backyard.

"Bye bye, Puppy!" She called after him as he climbed back over the fence. He slunk to the backdoor again and transformed. He was shivering, because now all he had was wet skin and soaked clothing. He reached out to knock.

It was Ginny who opened the door. She stood there for half a second, too surprised to react. Then she grabbed him and pulled him inside.

"Oh Merlin," she said softly, summoning a towel to wrap him up in. She dried his clothes magically and silently put a heating charm on the towel. "What were you thinking?"

Devlin looked up at her, but didn't speak right away.

"Where is Harry?" He whispered and tugged his body away from her hands. He didn't want her touching him like this - like a mother. It felt a bit like betrayal.

"At the Ministry, of course!" She said sharply, moving forward and drying off his hair again with the towel. "He went to get help looking for you! Goodness knows they're probably miles away now, calling your name!"

"I didn't leave the property."

Ginny gave him an incredulous look.

"Harry was distraught!"

Devlin looked away. Ginny grabbed his hand and dragged him into the living room, picking up a piece of mirror. She tapped the surface and said "Harry". Suddenly Harry's face was in the mirror.

"What Ginny?"

"He came back, Harry," Ginny said and Devlin heard this Harry sigh in relief and breathe 'Thank Merlin'.

"I'm on my way back," he said and the surface of the mirror was empty again.

Devlin felt dread fill him.

"Is he still going to want to talk?" Devlin asked her, his face still pale from the cold, his hair in every direction from Ginny's towel. He looked like such a child, Ginny thought. For a moment he looked so much like one of Harry's children.

"Something very bad happened, didn't it?"

Devlin looked at her blankly and then, very slowly, he nodded.

Ginny bit her lip.

"He wants to help you, Devlin."

"But he can't," Devlin said, softly and with an air of defeat. "I can't be helped here. This isn't my world." He chose not to add that he couldn't be helped _anywhere_ or by _anyone_.

"Just tell him you're not ready then, Devlin," she said, just as softly, with a sadness in her eyes.

Coming Soon...

"Honestly, sir I'm not a very talkative child. I can see where you might have gotten the opposite impression of children my age because I listened to your son talk my ear off while we waited for you, but that's not me. My parent's practically have to drag information from me and I won't act as kindly towards your efforts if you do the same."

******PLEASE REVIEW!**


	4. Chapter 4

**I had a great trip abroad, although the jet lag is just catching up with me. I hope you enjoy this chapter. The installment of this chapter means I have caught up with all the rewriting of the original 4 chapters, the next installment will mean that chapter five won't be a side story any longer. Please review, this is more than 6,000 words and its taken a lot for me to get to this point. Thanks!**

It was only a moment later that Harry came back, rushing through the front door. His hair was wind-whipped, his eyes still worried, and his lips chapped. He stopped at the kitchen doorway, just looking at Devlin.

One hand gripped at the door frame with half of his body leaning forward; like Harry was keeping himself from rushing to Devlin and grabbing him. He breathed heavily, his gaze sharp and observant on Devlin - looking for injury. Behind him, were the sounds of other footsteps. Ronald Weasley, a blond young man, the tips of his hair tinged with purple, and Hermione, stepped in behind Harry.

"Is this the pint of a thing we caught a chill for?" Ron asked, his voice deep and gruff. He shook his head, spraying the kitchen with ice droplets. Hermione sighed and shoved him away from herself.

"Ronald!"

"Yeah, this is the pint of a thing," there was no anger in Harry's voice, but Devlin detected worry and disappointment and each was like a stab in his heart from the man that may as well be the ghost to his father. "I expect he's just about to tell us _why_ he'd make us all catch a chill, though."

Harry shouldn't have said the words at all - they are words for an unruly child. Harry was used to dealing with unruly children. Devlin wasn't an unruly child though - Harry could see it in the slump of his shoulders as they tensed at his words, in the eyes that closed tightly as he bit back a response, and in the body that was just as exhausted looking as Harry's own. This was a child who had stayed out in the cold for three and half hours to avoid a conversation. Harry was haunted by what that conversation might have led too, if Devlin had allowed it to begin.

Devlin brought his green eyes up to meet his own and Harry frowned, because there was something in there Harry hadn't been expecting: emptiness. For a moment it was like staring into Tom Riddle's eyes.

"No," he said softly, his small chin jutting forward, his little chest puffing out. For a moment Harry could only think that he was standing straight and proud, ready to face his death. His fists were clenched at his side, his mouth neither pursed nor relaxed, and he closed his eyes for a second. Then they opened.

Amber.

He was staring into amber eyes. They reminded him of Remus' eyes, except _more_. More of what, he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"No," he said again and this time his voice was deep and rough. "I didn't ask you to come after me. You did that. You caught yourself a chill, because you made the choice. I was just fine."

"You were not just fine!" Harry said, his voice low but powerful. Hermione was silent beside him, that look on her face could only mean she was trying to put something together. "You're a child and whatever happened to you must have scared you - for you to run away like that."

Devlin simply stared at him, the intensify of his gaze disarming.

"From where I am standing, there is no one I would want to talk to, if indeed it had scared me. From where I am standing there are only people who look like people I know - who wear their faces and speak in their voices. I'd tell my father, sir, but you aren't him. I'd tell Aunt Hermione, but you aren't my Aunt, you're just 'Hermione'. I probably wouldn't tell Professor Weasley, or Ronald, because he's my dad's best friend. And you-" he pointed at the purpled haired man, "I have no idea who _you_ are."

"Teddy Lupin," the man said, as if Devlin had asked him nicely. He smiled politely and stepped forward to shake hands. He reminded Devlin a bit of Eliot. Devlin stared at the hand, suddenly lost for words. "Well gee, I was only being nice," the man said, his hand still hanging in midair. Devlin reached out and shook the hand.

"You look like Remus, a bit," he said softly, looking at the boy.

"I can look like him more, if you like, but then I'd probably just be another one of those 'people who look like people', yeah?" Devlin didn't quite follow, but he nodded. "So you do know him - Remus that is?"

"Yeah, we're good friends. Did he die here?"

"Yeah, in the Final Battle."

Devlin nodded.

"A lot of people died here..." he said softly.

"I hear Voldemort is still alive in your world," Teddy said softly, the smile gone. "That must make for a pretty awful world."

"Just different," Devlin said quietly, looking at the floor.

"I think I'll make some hot cocoa for everyone," Ginny said loudly. "Then it's dinner time!"

Everyone nodded and went to the table. Devlin was reminded of Misses Weasley in his world.

"I hope if something were bothering you Devlin, that you'd be able to think of me as someone _new_ and talk to me," Harry said, as they settled around the table. Devlin looked up from where his head had been buried in his arms in exhaustion and frowned.

"Honestly, sir I'm not a very talkative child. I can see where you might have gotten the opposite impression of children my age because I listened to your son talk my ear off while we waited for you, but that's not me. My parent's practically have to drag information from me and I won't act as kindly towards your efforts if you do the same."

Ginny was looking at him oddly and Devlin realized all at once he had _rambled_ and how much like Tom Riddle he must have seemed to her. He looked away and reburied his head. It wasn't that he was ashamed so much as he simply felt odd being looked at as Tom Riddle, rather than Voldemort's grandson, or Voldemort's Heir. Without a Voldemort there was no value to being Tom Riddle-like. It was an odd sensation to say the least.

Ginny gave him the first cup of hot cocoa personally. As she straightened up, her hand snuck to his forehead, where it lingered under his hair for a moment.

"I'm surprised you managed to keep so warm," she said softly as she went back to the counter to retrieve the other cocoas.

"Yes me too, Ginny," Hermione said, as Ginny passed her a cup as well. Her eyes came back to observe Devlin over the rim of her cup. Devlin blinked back.

Harry now looked curious as well.

"It wasn't magic," Harry said softly, "I'd know if you stayed within the wards..."

Devlin eyed them all, eying him.

"Oh it was magic," he said softly, sipping at his cocoa. Harry frowned. "Just not any kind your wards would react too."

"What do you mean?"

Devlin knew how Harry felt about weaknesses in his wards - the same way Devlin had always thought he felt about innocent people being hurt, or his family being threatened. Obviously that was all true for _this_ Harry. Devlin knew he could keep his secrets about the battle he had come from, but he knew he _couldn't_ keep his secret about how he had escaped Harry's notice on his own property.

"Your wards are based on grandma Lily's and grandpa James' wards - like in my world," Devlin began and Harry nodded.

"There is nothing wrong with them. I had the best people look at them. My mother was gifted with wards."

Devlin took a sip.

"Oh, absolutely. Like I said, my own wards are based off of them and my mother _works_ for Dumbledore and the Ministry in the Ward department. But there would be one thing that James wouldn't have wanted the wards to react to - his transformation into a Stag. Right?"

Harry was frowning again. After a moment he gave a little nod. "Go on..."

"So, I transformed. In all honesty, creating wards that react to magical transformations may not even be possible in your world yet - it was newly invented in my own."

"You...transformed?" Hermione asked and her voice almost shook. Devlin frowned at her, almost certain she had made the connection to his eyes - he is sure they were amber - and him being a werewolf.

Devlin stood up slowly, settling his cocoa on the table.

"I can show you, Harry. I'm like uncle Sirius - a canine."

Harry was smiling now, in a surprised and overwhelmed way, but a smile nonetheless.

"Alright..."

Devlin felt his body shifting, his legs realigning, his face changing. His hearing exploded, his smell intensified, and everything turned into muted colors. He wagged his tail as his eyes focused on Harry Potter.

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed, shifting in his chair to reach down and touch him. Devlin touched his nose to the hand and then bounced backwards, into a play stance. It was much easier to be playful as a puppy - in fact it was rather difficult to be anything else.

"He's so cute," Teddy said. Devlin turned to him and barked indignantly. He was not _cute_, just like he was _not_ adorable, no matter what Maria and Emma said.

"I don't think he likes that," Ronald said gruffly, as he got up to steal a piece of some chicken cooling on the counter.

Devlin transformed again and shook himself, reorienting to the colors and lack of smell and hearing.

"I'm not _cute._ I will be fierce one day!"

Teddy laughed, Ginny joined him, Ronald snuck some more chicken and Harry smiled. Hermione sat quietly, watching him.

"Part of the reason we wait so long to teach children about Animagi is because when we 'search' for our form, we have to have had enough life experience to _know_ what kind of animal matches our traits. You're far too young to have achieved a form, unless something in you has already made a different form impossible."

Devlin arched an eyebrow at her.

"I was hoping to keep that conversation private," Devlin said, narrowing his eyes. He leaned forward suddenly, smiling. Harry cringed, because the smile was all Tom Riddle. "But since you've brought it up - and I think you _know_ exactly what you've brought up - I'll answer you right now, in this very much public format. I was bitten by a werewolf when I was three. I can't be anything but a wolf."

Hermione looked taken aback by the power in his words. His eyes flashed amber and he bared his teeth.

"I didn't think - I thought maybe you were like Bill...you can't be a full werewolf because otherwise your eyes would _stay_ somewhat amber, moments ago they were all green." Even shaken, Hermione was one hundred precent logical.

He smiled charmingly, but the charm was all false and Harry could see he didn't appreciate having to talk about this subject. If Harry had known the boy better, he'd know Devlin hated the subject because it was a _weakness_ to others, and there was nothing Devlin hated more than weaknesses.

"Normally there is a separation between the werewolf's mind and the human's mind. Everyday except the full moon, it is the human who is in control. It is, however, simply a barrier - rather similar to Occlumency. Like any barrier it can be breached, especially from the inside. Having a barrier makes the mind weaker - so it stands to reason that it would be a mind's last resort to 'combine' by breaking this barrier in order to survive."

He leaned back to observe them as if he'd known he'd just spoken circles around most of them. Except there wasn't an ounce of confusion in Hermione's eyes. She leaned forward, hunger in her eyes to know more.

"You are inferring that your mind no longer has this barrier - but what sort of trauma can 'combine' the wolf and human?"

Devlin took his wand out of his pocket and began to twirl it through his fingers. Harry could see Ginny tense, but he didn't have the heart to stop the boy - it was obviously as much a habit as fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Except this habit didn't make him look like a child.

"A period of constant Crucio is currently the medical example available," he said, without emotion. As if Hermione and he were simply discussing a theory or someone else's case. As if he hadn't just said _'I was tortured with an unforgivable'_. Harry knew what that felt like. He tightened his jaw, feeling that anger rush through him again. This other Harry didn't seem to have done his best for this child.

"You were tortured?" Harry said, before he could stop himself. Devlin turned very slowly to him and met his eyes for just a moment. Then his gaze snapped away, as if he feared Harry would see something in them.

"Did you think he wouldn't have?" He asked, like he really wished he weren't talking about this at all.

"I...You said you learned to be a boy he wanted..."

"And I did that by proving I was valuable, powerful - not weak. I didn't scream. I didn't fall to the ground. I didn't beg for him to stop. It made me interesting, except that it really wasn't me - it was my wolf. He protected me - took the worst of the torture. He's always taken the worst of any-" he stopped short and looked away again, then ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to talk about this!" He said suddenly, harshly. His dark green eyes were narrowed, all amber gone. He looked like Tom Riddle suddenly, from the look in his eyes to the set of his jaw. Somehow he managed to go from looking nervous and defensive to looking deadly by only shifting a couple muscles. Harry could never pull that off. Harry was just about to press him again, when suddenly Ginny jumped up and announced that dinner was ready. On her way past him, she whispered: "you have to give him some time, Harry. He's not like your other boys."

Harry sighed and settled into his seat as dinner was served. Ginny was usually right about these sorts of things.

"So you said Charm's was your favorite study, what is your-"

"I said it was my favorite class."

"Er, alright. What's your favorite study then?"

"Potions."

Harry arched an eyebrow, because he hadn't been expecting that from a Potter, no matter what.

"Oh. I always found Potions rather difficult."

"Because of Professor Snape," Devlin said, swallowing a bit of mash potatoes. Harry nodded. "Yeah, he's told me."

"Severus did?"

"Yes."

"Severus is a good man," Harry said and Devlin frowned. He felt like his whole world had suddenly flipped over and become something entirely different, which was odd, since that had already happened once that day. He chose not to comment.

They ate dinner mostly in silence, until Ginny announced Harry really should bring Devlin to bed. So Harry led him up the stairs and into a guest room. It was an odd sensation, being led to a room in your own house. They passed by 'his' room, but there was a handmade sign with 'Albus's Room: keep out' scrolled on the front of it. He paused to examine the sign more closely - was that what normal boys his age did to keep their parents out?

"Albus doesn't like us to go in..." Harry said, laughing. "Hence the sign."

"I just use locking and silencing charms...I don't think my parents would listen to a sign..." Which had to be true, because they certainly did not usually respect his silencing and locking charms!

"Which room do you have at your house?" Harry said, as if just realizing how awkward this had to be for Devlin.

"This one," he said, pointing to the door. "But don't worry, I'll keep out."

Harry laughed and once more Devlin was caught off guard by how easily this Harry laughed.

"I'm sure Albus will let _you_ in - it's only really Lily, James, Ginny and I who aren't allowed in."

Devlin frowned. Did regular boys simply want to keep _some_ people out, without a care for others entering? Devlin had no such 'yes' and 'no' lists - he would prefer his privacy from _everyone_.

"I'll show you the guest room," Harry said, and led him down the hall. They stopped in front of Emma's room, but of course it wasn't Emma's room, it was the 'guest room' and when Harry opened the door, it wasn't to pink and purple walls, but to plain beige ones. There was no bed full of the unthinkable amount of dollies and fuzzy animals. There was no toy castle. There was no little table with dancing fairies for tea parties that Uncle Sirius had gotten Emma. There were no princess dresses thrown around the room. No kitten sleeping atop the bed.

There were plain walls and a plain bedspread and a plain dresser.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Devlin stood at the threshold, frozen as Harry showed him around the room.

He was showing him that Ginny had already put his clothes away from the bin of outgrown clothing. He said he could spell a light in the room if Devlin wanted. Then he finally seemed to notice that Devlin's expression hadn't changed in the least and he came towards the boy again.

"Devlin?"

But Devlin didn't want to see these green eyes sad. He wanted to see them alive with life. So he shook himself.

"Sorry, sir," he said confidently. "It's just this room is different in my house."

Harry nodded slowly, like he were afraid any fast movements or questions would make Devlin scamper away again.

"Will you be alright in here?" He said kindly, his voice a light breathy whisper.

"Yes, sir," Devlin said, making to sit on the bed. "It's very nice, thank you."

Harry nodded, walking toward the door.

"If you need anything, we're two doors down. Teddy is going to sleep over - he'll use James' room. You can tell which one by the "If you enter you will be pranked" sign."

Harry lingered at the door, as if waiting for Devlin to announce his need for something. As if he were expecting Devlin to suddenly begin reacting like a regular boy.

"I won't ask, sir," he said, "I don't ask for childish things."

Harry nodded and ducked into the hallway, but then a moment later, he was back at the door.

"Is there anything else you _want_?" He asked, just as kindly.

Devlin blinked at the unexpected question, surprised that this Harry had seen through his words so quickly. He found himself nodding.

"Yes. I want my mum. I want to know that Emma is safe. I want to be in _my_ room, with Zee on his dog bed and Emity chasing dust bunnies under my bed. I want everything to be like it's supposed to be."

Harry nodded and smiled sadly.

"I've got Hermione on the research and tomorrow I'll go into the Ministry and start having people figure out how to get you home," he said softly and Devlin nodded, because he knew having Hermione on something, was Harry's way of saying 'we're trying our hardest'. "Get some sleep...it won't be so quiet around here once the winter holiday's start."

He dreamed of Remus as a werewolf, playing with Zee and Devlin together. He dreamed of Emma's innocent blue eyes and Maria's brilliant piercing ones. He dreamed of Emity, her eyes the color of a strange stone that whispered to him while he lay in a pile of red leaves. He dreamed of a strange world where Remus, Sirius, Dumbledore and Severus didn't exist and awakened to tell his father, who held him until he was sleeping again.

"Hey Devlin, wake up, buddy," his father's voice called from above him. Devlin curled deeper into his blankets, his body felt so sore and _exhausted_ and the last thing he wanted was to open his eyes.

"Too tired, Dad," he mumbled. He heard some feet shuffle and then his father came to sit beside him on the bed. Already, there was a creeping sensation up his spine that something _was not right_. His father reached out to touch his shoulder lightly, as if he were a fragile doll. _Wrong,_ his brain screamed. Devlin's eyes snapped open and his body flipped itself around. He stood up on the bed in one fluid movement, his wand already pointed at the the man's throat.

Green eyes. Glasses. Unmistakable messy hair.

"Did you manage to wake him up, Harry?" Devlin couldn't pinpoint who that voice belonged too, but he knew it wasn't his mothers. Neither were the footsteps coming closer and closer to the door.

Devlin's wand shook as realization hit him that it hadn't been a dream at all.

"Can you put that down, Devlin?" This Harry asked, calmly, his eyes soft and caring, his hands, slightly extended towards him, steady. "Everything is alright. You're just a bit startled is all."

"We'll be down in a minute, Gin," he called into the hallway.

"Alright, Harry." Those shuffling feet moved past the slightly ajar door, without even looking in. Devlin relaxed just a little bit. He made himself sit down on the edge of the bed, but he wouldn't put his wand away yet - it was a comfort.

"You alright?"

"Yes, sir. I just... I dreamed that my dad told me it was all a dream and then it wasn't..."

"This must be very difficult and even though none of us can really understand, we will all try our best to be understanding and considerate. If there is anything you need - you'll let me know, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Also, if you _want_ something, right?"

Devlin looked up at him sharply, but nodded.

"The nurse called me over the floo today to nag me about checking your cut. She was going to come over and look at it herself, until I reminded her I _had_ passed my Intermediate Healing examines for being an Auror. So how about we check on that cut and then go get some breakfast?"

Devlin looked down at his button up, long sleeved, pajama top that he had picked for the very reason that it _hid_ the thing Harry was asking to see - and so much more. He frowned nervously. He knew it needed looking after and that he couldn't do it himself, and right now he knew he was just being weak, worrying about Harry's reaction, but he could not stop himself.

"Alright," he said, trying to sound resolute. He stood up and, facing away from Harry, unbuttoned the buttons, his hands shaking, while this Harry watched him with building confusion and concern in his eyes. He shrugged out of one shoulder first, his left shoulder, exposing his bite mark. He waited for that intake of breath, that horror, but it didn't come.

"I've seen scars before," this Harry said calmly.

Devlin shrugged out of the other arm and still there was no inhale of air or words of horror. There was, however, a dark hurt in those green eyes when he turned around again.

"Voldemort?" This Harry asked, anger deep in his words.

"Yes," Devlin said, short and sharp and hoping this was all he had to say to Harry. Harry visibly swallowed.

"Alright, come closer so I can see the cut from yesterday."

So Devlin came closer and Harry took hold of his arm, lifting it up and peering at the bright red line extending from below his shoulder to above his elbow.

"It's from a curse," Harry said, without emotion. It was a fact that lay between them, haunting to Devlin because he knew now that Harry must have _some _idea what he had come from, and haunting to Harry because he had only an inkling. Harry moved his wand across the line, whispering healing spells. It faded a bit, but it was obvious to Harry that it had been a dark curse that had caused the damage and it would need more treatments before it was fully healed. It would probably leave a scar. Harry didn't know why that bothered him so much, since the child had plenty others, except that he thought the boy probably didn't deserve so much as one more scratch. "There, lets get some breakfast."

"Shouldn't I get dressed?"

"If you like," he said, standing up and heading towards the door.

After he had left Devlin went to the dresser and tried to find something that didn't look so_ mugglish_, but it seemed that whole box should have been labeled 'James' outgrown muggle clothes' because there wasn't even _one_ robe in the whole pile. Devlin settled on some grey slacks and a button down white shirt. He carried them to the bathroom and took a quick shower, spelled his hair neat, and got dressed. He carefully transferred his wand into the new pants, a well as his miniature backpack. He paused at the doorway, realizing he had no shoes. He looked out into the hallway, making sure no one was there, and then he withdrew his wand and transfigured two washcloths into shoes. They would have to do until he had a chance to spell his clean after breakfast.

The house was quiet as he walked through the hallway. He headed towards the kitchen, knowing it was where everyone would be. Ginny was still in her night clothes, with a house robe thrown over flannel shirt and pants. Harry was all dressed, ready for work.

"Hello," the little girl from Dumbledore's office greeted him, without a smile. She seemed leery of him, as if she weren't quite sure how he would react to her this time.

"Hello, Lily," he said, trying to make the word come easily past his tongue. It was a word spoken with some reverence in his home and he felt odd saying it without the importance attached.

"Daddy says you're a Potter and I'm to be nice to you," she said matter of factly; as if she had made an agreement with Harry that she wanted to make clear to Devlin. Perhaps she didn't feel motivated herself to be 'nice to him'.

"Nothing you say to me will bother me," he said calmly, sitting across from her. She wrinkled her nose, as if she didn't quite believe him, but she made no move to test his word. In fact she was relatively quiet, something Devlin hadn't pegged her as capable of, until Teddy came down to sit beside her.

She bounced a bit in her seat, then caught of sight Devlin again, and resumed her serious look once more. Teddy snuck a look at him, his eyes curious and deep. The look reminded Devlin of Remus and he looked away.

"What do you like to eat, Devlin?" Ginny asked him. She was already making pancakes for Lily and she didn't seem to need an order from Teddy. Harry was already eating eggs and toast and from the looks of it, it was something he had made himself. It looked to be muggle cooked and smelled just as delicious as any food his father made.

"I'll eat anything," he said honestly. Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Whatever you're already cooking will do just fine. I don't want to be any trouble."

Harry looked up for a moment, that curious look in his eyes again. Devlin frowned, feeling the inkling that he was doing something _wrong_, but not sure what it was, since he was trying so hard to do everything _right_.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Lily?"

"When does Alby get home?"

"In two days, sweetheart."

Lily smiled.

"And Rose too, right?" Harry nodded and the girl grinned even more.

Devlin stood up and wandered over to Ginny.

"Can I help you?" He asked politely. She looked at him sharply, as if she might have misheard. "I could get the plates for you," he added.

"That would be lovely, dear," Ginny said, looking somewhat dumbstruck. "Can you reach?"

"Do I need too?" He countered. "I'm not a muggle," he added, without much thought. He charmed the cabinet door open wandlessly, then summoned the plates into his hands. Lily was kneeling in her chair when he turned around, her brown eyes wide and excited.

"How'd you do that?" She demanded, awe as well as a power to her voice. She wasn't to be crossed, Devlin could tell.

"With magic. I'm a wizard, after all," he said, laughing.

"No, I mean without a wand! Only grown-ups can do that stuff without wands!"

"Oh," he said, putting the plates in front of each of them. "Then how about this one?"

He cupped his hands and blew inside of them. When he opened them, there was a lily settled in his hands. Lily looked at the flower and squealed. Devlin had never heard the sound before and leaned back quickly, uncertain if it was a positive or negative reaction.

"How'd you learn that?" She asked, grinning. Devlin handed her the flower.

"They're my father's favorite. When I was little, I used to make them to make him smile. I suppose I just never stopped. They're Emma's favorite too." He went to retrieve the utensils and lay them out in front of Teddy, Lily, and himself. When he came back, Harry was looking at him in a new way - not with concern but with something Devlin couldn't pinpoint but knew was similar to pride.

"Can you make other things?" Lily asked, tucking the flower into her hair.

"Not that many other pretty things," he said slowly, frowning a bit. "I can make a crown of lilies - I learned that one for Emma - but I need something real to start with."

"Here, you can use this, if you like," Teddy offered, withdrawing a muggle coin from his pocket. He seemed to have shaken enough of his sleep to speak, at least.

Devlin eyed the coin. He weaved it in and out of his fingers for a bit, feeling it's exact weight and shape, then he flicked it in the air. As it flew away from him, it morphed into a lily, then two lilies, then a row of lilies all strung together. It floated gracefully above Lily's head, then tied itself off to fit her just perfectly. She squealed again.

"Do something else!" She cheered.

Devlin fell still.

"I don't know any other nice things," he said finally, the words falling slowly off his tongue, his shoulders suddenly feeling heavy, his brow wrinkling down. Harry was looking at him oddly again, Teddy was frowning, and Ginny looked nervous.

"You certainly help nicely," Ginny finally said, breaking the silence. Devlin turned to her, but he didn't have it in him to smile.

"Thank you," he said automatically.

Harry was looking oddly at him again.

"You also have good manners," he ventured. Devlin tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Manners are important," he replied.

"Why?" Lily asked, as if it were some true mystery to her.

Devlin peered at her for a moment, then smiled. It was a smile full of encouragement and bemusement. He shook his head once, slowly. Like an older boy who recalled his own young years of immaturity.

"It is one part of being charming," he said, laughing. It was a clean, older-child laugh. Gone was the uncertainty from his eyes. Harry frowned, seeing through the facade. He was being charming now. Was this what Voldemort would have been like a child? A child so capable of looking so welcoming and polite?

"Well I'm sure it wasn't your father who taught you to be so polite," Ginny ventured. Harry could see the question in her eyes and she held the same uncertainty Harry did himself. _Had _the other Harry taught the boy these manners? The child hadn't talked about his father very much and last night when he had said he wanted his mother and Emma, Harry had noted the lack of 'dad'.

"Not really."

"Is your dad different than my dad?" Lily asked, scrunching up her face like she were trying to wrap her head around all the information she had heard.

"Yes, very," Devlin said, lifting his plate for Ginny to grab and fill with food.

"How? Does he wear glasses?"

"They look the same," Devlin said slowly, sneaking a glance at this Harry, "but my dad has more scars and he doesn't smile as much. He's always busy. I think he's tired of it all. He didn't want to fight, I don't think. Not like your dad."

Harry frowned. A tired, exhausted Harry. Harry had been there - been that Harry - but not with children and not for years and years at a time.

"My dad killed Voldemort," Lily said proudly, grinning at Harry even as her eyes remained connected with Devlin. Harry frowned as he always did when his children did what Ginny called 'showing him off'. "Has yours?"

"No," Devlin said, and began to eat the food.

Teddy was uncharacteristically quiet but Harry thought it had something to do with their conversation late last night, when the young man had asked if he thought Devlin would know much about his father - who his father would have been as an older man. Was there a Teddy? Was Remus married - and if yes, to who? Teddy was observing the boy with his kind brown eyes that always made Harry think of Remus.

For a moment Devlin caught Teddy looking at him and lifted his own eyes. The brown and green connected and a softness entered Devlin's eyes, along with a tinge of amber.

"Remus doesn't like to talk in the morning either. Uncle Sirius says he 'requires coffee to be human' and then laughs and mumbles 'literally'. Usually Remus hits him upside his head when he makes that joke and calls it horrendous, or down-right poor, or something else."

Teddy's eyes lit up and he smiled. Harry felt himself smiling too, remembering Remus on the few mornings he had been there with him. That did sound like Sirius.

"It must have been awesome, getting to grow up with all of them," Teddy said, before he thought. Harry could see the exact moment he remembered Harry's words last night, while they had been searching for the boy. His face fell and he leaned forward, but Devlin had taken the exact same moment to glance at Lily and lean forward as well. There was a smile on his face and he folded his hands upon the table, as if he were perfectly comfortable.

"Oh yes, of course it was," he said, absolutely convincing. His eyes flickered to Lily again and Teddy followed his gaze - Lily was looking between them, listening to every word. Devlin was protecting her.

It wasn't something James' or Albus would think to do, because what did they have to hide from the child but curse words and things they didn't want Lily repeating to their mother or father? Harry was struck once more at Devlin's perception and intelligence and of course his charm.

"Do you know how to fly on a broom?" Lily asked suddenly, probably bored by looking between the now silent boys.

"Yes," Devlin said, turning his pleasant smile upon her.

"I'm really good," she said, puffing out her chest. "Like my mum and dad."

He smiled warmly and somehow he made the warmth touch his eyes. For a moment Harry saw the blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore in the child's eyes - sparkling with suppressed magic that bubbled to the surface in a moment of bemusement. Harry wondered what this child's Dumbledore thought of him.

For a moment this boy didn't strike Harry as strange at all and in that moment he felt a great relief flood him as he let go of his worry for the child. Then Lily leaned forward across the table and smirked mischievously - Devlin's eyes narrowed and he stayed perfectly still, as if afraid of giving something away with his body language. That childish look vanished in a heartbeat as Lily's thoughts left her mouth.

"You met him, right?"

**Upcoming soon: **As a child Harry would have become flustered as he struggled for the words to defend his character, but Devlin, he noted, simply blinked. He made no motion to defend himself at all and for the first time, Harry felt a shiver run up his spine as he heard the boys words again '_I learned to be what he wanted_'. He felt that tension come back to his body and that worry fill his mind - worry for what this child must think of himself.

**Much later (first draft): **His feet rushed beneath him and he ran, his warm breath obscuring his vision, until he reached the edge of the forest, where he stopped abruptly. It was chaos. After all the peace he had experienced, his mind felt assaulted by the war before him.

PLEASE REVIEW!

Please be aware that CHAPTER 5 is currently only a side story, it allowed me to alert people to an update on this story as I was rewriting the chapters.

PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW!


	5. The Mini Tom Riddle

**Chapter 5! Yay! I've been working towards this. :) **

**This chapter sets the stage for chapter six, which will be very important. It's a bit smaller so that I could break it somewhat naturally (the more natural break would have been none at all, but that would have been 8,000+ words and I still have a bit of work to do on the second half). Plus, we all need something to read discreetly tomorrow, as we're surrounded by family...right? To make up for chapter length I've included 3 'upcoming quotes' for the three pivotal issues that arise in the next chapter. Just to tease you, really. **

**I think the next chapter will be up in time for the Dinner portion tomorrow. I haven't got a house for Turkey day (Sandy AKA Frankenstorm), and I've decided I'll do some writing to make myself forget about all the walls, floors, etc., that have to be torn down in my house - oh and lets not forget the mud! **

**I am thankful this year for what I have: my family and friends, a place to sleep and be warm, most of my photos/artwork, a possibly recoverable house, my computer, my animals, and so much else. **

**Onto the STORY!**

Even after all these years, children speak about Voldemort like a bad word - they'll say it in a bold way, but speak circles around it otherwise. That warmth vanished from his eyes and his lips fell lank. He looked like Tom Riddle as he folded his hands on his lap and leaned back just a hair away from Lily.

"Yes, I have."

Her eyes lit up; like they always do when she thinks she is onto a good story. Harry knew he should stop her, but morbid curiosity stopped him. He sat frozen, watching the discussion play out.

"Does he really look like a snake?"

Devlin's lips pinched together, as if he were the tiniest bit offended. He looked at Harry for the briefest of moments, as if to say 'stop me now, or consider yourself warned'. Ginny was frozen as well.

"No, I don't think he looks like a snake. He is lacking many snake-like attributes, after all. Many people do, however, say he looks like a monster." Devlin leaned forward. "But that is only when he wants to look like a monster - Dark Magic makes him look that way and Dark Magic makes him able to look like he should - like he did before he began to be Voldemort. He is actually quite handsome, most say."

"He can't be handsome! He's the bad guy." Harry felt his cheeks flush a bit like he always did when he realized a distinct _lack _in his own parenting. He hated talking about the war so much that he hadn't talked to his children about who Voldemort _was_ before he was a monster.

Devlin looked at him again, as if in disbelief that someone could be so innocent. For a moment Harry could almost imagine the world he had grown up in. He leaned forward with determination in his eyes; as if he were intent on fixing what Harry hadn't. Harry had another flash of what his childhood must have been like, if he understood the necessity of knowing good was not always pretty and evil was not always ugly.

"There are men, Lily - handsome men, men who say please and thank you - who are evil. There are men who would say nice things to you, and then hurt you. There are-"

The determination vanished and Devlin's eyes seemed to snap back to reality. Harry wondered what he had stopped himself from saying.

"Evil can be hidden," he said finally, leaning back again. "Evil is good at hiding behind manners and charm and encouraging smiles."

Lily frowned for a long moment. Ginny had begun chewing again. Harry let himself put his fork down. Teddy was still blinking slowly, watching the boy. It seemed as if all was right again; or at least as normal as things could be with this child sitting at his table.

"That could be anyone, then," Lily said very softly, her eyes wide and uncertain with this new information. "It could even be you!"

As a child Harry would have become flustered as he struggled for the words to defend his character, but Devlin, he noted, simply blinked. He made no motion to defend himself at all and for the first time, Harry felt a shiver run up his spine as he heard the boys words again '_I learned to be what he wanted_'. He felt that tension come back to his body and that worry fill his mind - worry for what this child must think of himself.

"It could be anyone," Devlin said evenly, lifting some food to his mouth and chewing slowly. Lily's brow furrowed again and she turned to him, desperate for him to dispel this fear in her eyes.

"Anyone can be a good guy - anyone can be a bad guy. It's about the choices we make, not about how we look," Harry said, fighting with himself to allow that fear to exist in her eyes. It was nothing he hadn't known at her age.

Devlin had finished eating and Harry watched as he spelled his plate into the sink.

"Mummy can make them clean up," Lily said tentatively, obviously eager to change the subject.

"I don't know that one," Devlin said.

"Why not? It's easier than flowers!"

"I never had to learn to clean," he said, a bit roughly, with a tiny curl of his lip that brought Harry back to Draco Malfoy as a child, disgusted about cleaning without magic.

"Oh," was all Lily said.

"I could show you, dear," Ginny offered.

Devlin looked down at his hands and shook his head sharply.

"No, thank you. I won't need to know."

Harry frowned. Something bothered him about the way the boy had phrased that sentence, but he couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, it was.

"You're going to come to work with me tomorrow Devlin," Harry said instead, wishing the coldness in the boys eyes would leave. It wasn't a cruel coldness, but rather like the boy had allowed himself to ice over all his emotions. "Today I think Ginny is taking you shopping for some new shoes."

He looked up sharply.

"I can clean the old ones, sir. Even so, my transfigurations last," he motioned to the shoes currently on his feet. Harry hadn't really noticed and found them more than a little impressive. Still, they couldn't be that comfortable and they weren't going to keep him warm.

"It's alright. I can't take you to work today anyways - I want to assemble the team to work on sending you home, today. I'll have to travel a lot. Tomorrow I'll have you meet a few of them - it will probably take me several days to get them all in one spot."

"Yes sir," he said, looking away. As if asking him to be with Ginny was asking a lot. Ginny looked at Harry from across the table while Devlin was looking away.

"Can I porkey with you, Harry? It's a lot easier than the floo, but they won't let us have one yet," Teddy asked, shoving the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth. Harry nodded. Devlin looked away at his hands. Harry glanced at his hands as he bent down to pick up his bag. The boy was making colored lights, just on his finger tips, breathing in and out steadily as if trying to calm himself. Harry frowned and sent Ginny another worried glance.

"Come on Lily, lets go get dressed. Teddy, comb your hair before you go to work!" Teddy nodded dutifully and wandered up the stairs behind Lily. Harry was left alone with Devlin for a moment.

"It will be okay, Devlin," he said, sounding as reassuring as he could for all his uncertainty.

"It's never okay," the boy said instead and his gaze rose to meet Harry's; sharp, intelligent and as far from innocent as Harry had ever seen a boy's eyes be. "My dad used to tell me that too - but nothing is okay. Nothing was ever okay."

There was a knock by the door, Hermione was standing there, folders clutched between her crossed arms.

"I used the portkey you gave me last night, Harry. Sorry if I was interrupting - I didn't want to make us late."

Devlin looked away, then abruptly rose from his chair. He stalked off towards the doorway, pausing just briefly enough to say over his shoulder, "I'll see you later today, sir. I'm not upset, I simply do not like false reassurance."

He disappeared into the hallway, leaving Harry with a frowning Hermione and a stack of what must be her notes - never a good thing in the morning. He rose from his chair and shouted for Teddy to hurry up. When Hermione and Teddy were touching the portkey, he grabbed on as well and whispered the password. Devlin was watching him, from the living room doorway, his dark green eyes shadowed with memories Harry wished he knew more about.

Work was bustling as always. Normally he loved the atmosphere - it was the rush he lacked in life after Voldemort, but today he only wanted to think about the green eyed boy, and so he walked as quickly to his office as possible.

"Mr. Potter?" He turned reluctantly at his shouted name, only to find three people rushing towards him. He recognized one as Mr. Platt, a muggleborn code-breaker he had worked with once on a case, but he didn't know the other two.

"Yes?"

"The Minister owled us last night and told us to come to you first thing in the morning for an assignment titled 'Devlin' - he said it was urgent." This was the girl of the group, but he didn't know her name, and since all he wanted to do was think of Devlin, he didn't care to learn it now. She was about his age, whereas the others looked a bit older.

"Great. Go speak to Hermione," he said, gesturing to the woman as he spoke. The two older men nodded and started heading off, but the lady narrowed her eyes and paused before him.

"Isn't there going to be things Mrs. Granger can't tell us? The Minister made it sound like this was _your _case, sir."

He peered at her keen blue eyes that made him feel a bit like he was staring down a young Dumbledore. What was this girls name? Was she new? She must have been new - Harry knew almost everyones names.

"It is my case, however, there will be plenty of time later for me to fill you in on minuet details. Until then, go hear the gist of the case from Hermione."

She didn't pause this time and swept off towards Hermione, who was already speaking fervently with the other two - notes and all.

Harry swept into his office, wondering how Ginny was faring.

~~~~~~OoOoOoOoO~~~~~~~

Ginny had both of the children standing by the floo within moments.

"Have you ever been on the floo network alone?" She asked Devlin, certain he was going to answer 'yes'. After all, she'd seen him do things that her own children couldn't and he seemed fairly mature. Even Albus had done it by himself.

"No," he said, his face blank and his voice controlled.

Then Ginny remembered the world he grew up in, with Voldemort still at large and she suddenly realized how foolish she had been to even ask.

"Alright then. Each of you take a hand."

He did so without complaint, but there was no eagerness on his face. Ginny suspected he was like his father with the floo, Merlin knew Albus was! She tossed the powder in and yelled for The Leaky Caldron.

Devlin was, in fact, nothing like Harry exiting the floo. He landed on his feet, without a speck of soot on him, and a small smile playing at his lips.

"You're better than Harry," he said, looking at her where she had just managed to keep herself and Lily upright. In all fairness, the little girl was just like her father and it took all of Ginny's efforts just to keep the child in her arms. She laughed nevertheless and nodded as she spelled Lily and herself clean.

"You seem to have a knack for it," she said softly.

"No, not really," he said, still smiling smally. He arched an eyebrow. "Practice, however, makes perfect."

He was smiling pleasantly, there was no hint of resentment, but Ginny could see beyond what no longer bothered him. _Practice makes perfect_. She suddenly suspected her Albus and this boy were very alike in floo travel. Like their father. Harry _still_ couldn't travel without falling in someway. How much _practice_ had this child done to perfect the art?

"Well, you're very good at it now," she said politely.

"Yes," he said, his eyes scanning the room. It was just about lunch time, which meant the bar was filling up quickly. Devlin seemed adapt at dealing with the incoming crowd though, and therefore Ginny was surprised when he paused suddenly on their way to the back door. He stood very stiffly for a moment and no matter how much Ginny tugged at him, he wouldn't move. She followed his gaze and came upon a few men just sitting down at the bar. She couldn't tell who they were, since she could only see the back of their heads, but she suspected Devlin knew them - or at least his version of them.

"Do you know them?" She asked him softly, ignoring the impatient pout Lily was giving her.

"Death Eaters," he said, very softly. Lily had heard him though and she frowned, looking at the men as well.

"I don't think so," she said quietly.

"Not here, dear," Ginny said to him, trying to sound reassuring. "No one is a Death Eater anymore."

He turned his eyes upon her slowly.

"You can never get rid of what you have done."

Ginny felt for him and agreed with him, but she also knew that nothing good could come from this child interacting with these men.

"Lets go, alright?" He nodded stiffly and they continued towards the back door, into Diagon Alley.

The shoe shop was easy to find and Devlin stood still and patient for the man as he measured his feet. This part always sent Albus into a fit of laughter, but Devlin's lips didn't even twitch.

"How do these feel, son?" The man asked. Devlin shrugged.

"They're fine."

"Are they comfy though, dear?" Ginny asked softly, looking at the boy.

"I can make them comfy," he said. Ginny frowned, but since Lily was already starting to wander in the store, she nodded at the man.

"Do you want me to put his measurements on your record, Mrs. Potter?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Here, son, take your..." The man looked at his old shoes, a puzzled expression his face. "Are these transfigured?"

"Yes, sir. I did it this morning. Mrs. Potter?"

"Yes Devlin?"

"Do you want your washcloths back?"

She very nearly burst out laughing - was that what the boy had used to make his shoes?

"Er, not really."

"Then you can just throw them away, sir," Devlin said. The man also seemed torn between chuckling and staring in awe at the shoes.

"They're very good quality," he said softly.

"Thank you sir," he said politely and followed Ginny out the door.

"Better be careful, Devlin or Mr. Smith might offer you an internship," she said, laughing.

"That would be excessively dull," he said seriously.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Lily asked him. It was one of her favorite topics and her answer seemed to change every time she brought it up.

"I donno," the boy said, his smile suddenly gone. "I think I'll be someone powerful," he said after a while.

"Like an Auror?"

"No," he said, slowly again. "Someone with less rules."

"Like who?"

He shrugged.

"I donno, but I know lots of people will listen to me."

Ginny frowned slightly as she listened to them speaking. She supposed in a world with Voldemort still alive, a lot of people listened to the other Harry and he probably didn't have that many rules.

"Like your father, then?"

The child's gaze snapped to her own and there was a hard edge to them now.

"No, nothing like my father," he said seriously. "I will always fight and I won't ever give up, even for a moment."

"Everyone doubts themselves once in a while, Devlin," Ginny said, feeling for this other Harry. She remembered the way Harry had looked, when he had been exhausted. She remembered what doubt had looked like in his eyes.

"I know," he said, but she could tell it was a way to end the conversation and that he had little belief in his actual words. Ginny felt her heart break a little, at what this other Harry must be like.

"How about some ice cream?" She asked, her voice coming out more emotional then she had intended. Lily hardly noticed, but Devlin looked at her oddly for a moment. "Then afterwards we'll go to George's shop and see him and Ron." Lily shouted in glee, jumping on the spot. Devlin tipped his head, then nodded slowly.

Ice cream was ordered, eaten, and thrown away in record time. Devlin certainly didn't get his quick appetite from his father, that's all Ginny could say. He ate as quickly as Albus or James. Then again, it was one of those traits that she could never be certain about, since she suspected Harry's appetite was lost in his childhood.

Devlin walked into the joke shop slowly, with a cautious air about him. George, working in the top loft, saw them immediately and ran down to lift Lily into the air.

"Hey there, princess," he said, kissing her cheek. She giggled. "How are you?"

"Good," she giggled. "Mum brought Devlin and I to say hi, before we go home."

George must have heard something about the boy, because his eyebrows don't go _all the way_ to his hairline. He put Lily down gently and turned to regard Devlin.

"Hey there," he said, grinning. He reached out his hand for Devlin to shake, but Devlin merely scowled at him. Ginny readied herself to do damage control.

"I don't like stupid pranks," he said softly, deadly. "Kindly remove that stupid thing from your hand, and I'll be more than glad to shake."

George actually laughed.

"A Potter who doesn't like pranks, say it isn't so!" He said, feigning a heart attack.

"My grandmother didn't like pranks either," he said defensively.

George laughed again as he took the small contraption, magicked to be the same color as his skin, off his hand.

"Alright, alright. Now can we shake?"

"Yes, of course," Devlin said, and reached out his hand to shake. The moment their hands connected, George jumped into the air and his hair, now a nice shade of blue, stood on it's ends. He withdrew his hand quickly.

"Hey, that's not fair! How'd you do that?"

Devlin merely grinned, Ginny and Lily laughed, and Ron came out from the back of the shop, attracted by the noise.

"Just a bit of wandless and wordless magic," he said, grinning.

"I thought you said you didn't like pranks!"

"I said I don't like stupid pranks - that thing was stupid. Mine was ingenious." There was a smug smile on his face and Ginny knew tonight she'd have to drag the pensieve out to show Harry this memory.

UPCOMING:

1) "You don't have to pretend to like me, Mrs. Potter. I don't need you too."

"I-"

"I'm not a fool," he said, a bit defensively. "I'm not saying be unkind to me, just...maybe if you stopped pretending, you would realize I'm not him."

2) Then he saw her. He would know her anywhere, even in a crowd like this. Even in a sea of uniforms. [...] Harry Potter had walked right past her, but Devlin can't - he stopped right in front of her, the table top separating them. Her face was calm and beautiful with that edge of pure focus that Devlin never could get enough of seeing. It was what they shared.

3) He can't think. Can't breathe. Can't make himself do or say what he should. So he says something he shouldn't.

"She's probably dead," he said instead - the thing he hadn't meant to say and shouldn't have said.

**P.S. please review! It would make my Turkey day! I won't get to have dinner this year in my house (Sandy AKA Frankenstorm), and a couple reviews would really make me smile. :)**

**Pretty please? For the girl that's going out of her way to provide you a total of 8,000+ words tomorrow to read during Thanksgiving travel or for discreet dinner reading (next chapter uploaded mid-afternoon on Thanksgiving)! **

**Review! Review! Review!**


	6. Powerful

**Hope you're having a wonderful Thanksgiving. Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and the same plea stands for this one! Please review! I don't get to have a Thanksgiving meal at my house this year due to Sandy (AKA Frankenstorm), and would a couple reviews would really make me smile! **

**This chapter is actually a 1,000+ words LONGER than it was an hour ago, so I hope there aren't too many errors in it. ;) **

**Hope you enjoy!**

Ginny was starting to suspect that Lily's favorite pastime was soon to be "asking Devlin questions". It seemed that whenever Ginny wasn't right beside them to give Lily _the look _she was asking Devlin questions. Too many questions. Questions Ginny didn't want her to get an answer too. She hurried over to them, carrying a coat she thought might fit Devlin, as she heard Devlin begin to answer the "why don't you smile a lot?" question.

"If I was always grinning foolishly, how would anyone take me seriously?" He returned, raising one eyebrow at the girl and looking down at her from his height. She simply smiled up at him, more undeterred than Emma at her age.

"Why do you want to be taken seriously?" She asked again, even though Ginny _knew _her daughter often liked to be taken seriously herself. Sometimes she wondered if her Lily would end up with Albus at Hogwarts - she was equally brave as clever. Ginny thought she must have suspected the boy reacted better to something sweet rather than sour.

She was almost there to intervene, afraid of how the boy would answer the question, when she froze at his answer, a mere step away.

"I don't want to be taken seriously. I need to be taken seriously. People have to listen to me. People have to believe me."

"Why?"

But Lily never got her answer, because Ginny took the next step and held the green jacket out to the boy, asking him politely to try it on for size. He gave her that look again, but at least he wasn't any longer lecturing her about how he was a wizard and he didn't need a coat - he could spell himself warm. He tried the coat on, that blank look on his face still. It was a muggle coat and somehow Ginny expected this was the majority of the problem with it in his mind. Her stubborn streak was unwilling to buy anything else, then. She was absolutely certain Harry, any Harry, wouldn't hate muggles and so this was something of Voldemort in the child.

"You don't like it?" She asked, just a bit of her temper leaking into her voice.

"I can't move," he said, taking it off. "I won't wear something I can't move in. I told you I can-" but she was already moving away, looking for another jacket that he could _move in_. Really, she shouldn't be upset with the boy. Shopping with James was more painful than this. She had thought she was strong enough to be left alone with this miniature Tom Riddle clone, but now she is doubting herself. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself away from the children.

When she turned around, the boy was right there. He was frowning up at her, an oddly calculating look in his eyes.

"Are you upset?" He asked softly, but with that curious lisp that sent shivers down Ginny's spine.

"No."

"You look upset and you're heart is beating faster - your face is flushed. You're looking and acting upset." He frowned again. "I'll wear whatever jacket you'd like, Mrs. Weasley it's just that...I don't like not being able to move. I can move really fast, like my dad, and it keeps me safe."

She was pretty certain he was telling the truth, as much as she was certain he had added 'like my dad' for her benefit only.

"Fine. Then help me find one that you can move in."

He nodded resolutely and began to walk around the racks. He didn't touch a thing, but she swore his eyes were analyzing every seam of every jacket.

Finally he pulled out a deep grey one, it was soft with a slight stretch with wider arm holes and a larger body. It closed with toggles in the front and looked very traditional. She thought perhaps it was one size big as well. He put it on and when she frowned he reminded her that the length could be fixed easily enough. So she nodded and paid for the jacket. Lily was grinning, and Ginny was certain she was waiting for Ginny's attention to waver so she could ask another question. She knew her daughter.

At the door she took the tags out of the jacket and offered it to the boy, who twisted his lips once, but then put the item over himself, and walked resolutely out the doors ahead of them. Just like her James, Ginny thought. Surprisingly, however, he waited long enough to hold the doors open for them. There was no charming smile awaiting Ginny, merely an arched eyebrow.

They took a portkey home and once more, Devlin was on his feet, straight and dignified, when the ride was over. He smiled at their just-managed-to-stay-upright positions.

He held the front door open for them and all Ginny could think was that this child was such a contradiction.

Harry was just hanging up his robe when they came in and he smiled at them all. Lily was too busy asking Devlin a question to run to her father, Devlin was too busy eying Harry as if to say 'help me', and all Ginny wanted was to not look at the boy for a moment.

Ginny kissed Harry's cheek and then said very quietly by his ear: "Lets order out today, alright?"

Harry had that 'uh oh, what happened', look on his face, but Ginny just shook her head. When she glanced back once, Devlin was frowning at her, that calculating look in his face that sent her back to that old diary. She left to go upstairs and change, even though that would just be an excuse.

She could hear Harry's cheerful voice as he asked them what they wanted for dinner. Lily's voice demanded pizza. Ginny never heard Devlin offer a preference.

She flopped on her bed, took off her shoes, and then took off her jacket. Finally, after sitting for a while, she wandered back downstairs.

Harry and Lily were making silly faces at each other from across the table using chips as vampire teeth, Devlin was watching them, silent and with that nothingness again. He looked over when she came into view at the doorframe and regarded her for a moment.

"Hello," he said softly and at once Lily and Harry looked over too. "Are you feeling better? Harry said you didn't feel well."

Except she could tell he knew Harry had lied to him.

W_erewolf - _didn't that mean he had probably heard her whispering to Harry, as well? Heard her tone of voice? He was a clever child and suddenly she felt guilty for giving him the tiniest clues at all.

"Er, yes, I am. Thank you for asking, Devlin."

He inclined his head politely and turned his eyes back to the table. In that moment, he looked like such a sad boy. If he was Albus or James she'd hug him, but she doubted he would appreciate that very much.

After dinner the boy came to her, while Harry was chasing Lily upstairs, and simply watched her for a minute.

"Ginny?"

"Yes?" She asked, her voice following her command to be kind and carefree, at least.

"You don't have to pretend to like me, Mrs. Potter. I don't need you too."

"I-"

"I'm not a fool," he said, a bit defensively. "I'm not saying be unkind to me, just...maybe if you stopped pretending, you would realize I'm not him."

"I don't think-"

"I can see it in your mind. You have he and I all tangled up in your mind. Don't pretend you haven't. I know what it looks like - he and I being all tangled up in someones head."

"You do?" Suddenly she felt ten times more guilty. She hadn't been the first to feel this way about this child.

"It's why he never killed me," the child said softly, like he were telling her a secret. "Only part of him knows I'm not himself."

They stared at each other for a very long time. The spell on the dishes canceled itself, the house was hushed, even the cat, which usually slunk out from under her and Harry's bed right about now to be fed, was nowhere to be seen.

Ginny felt cold as a sudden burst of realization hit her. Suddenly the boys _perfect _replication of Tom Riddle's smallest mannerisms, his phrasing, the lilt of his voice, and the words he chose to emphasis hit her solidly. He had learned them all. Mastered them all.

_Practice makes perfect_.

Ginny felt sick and she was more than grateful when Harry turned the corner and said, "hey, Devlin, it's your turn", before bothering to examining the mood of the room.

Devlin turned easily from her, one graceful turn on the ball of his foot, and looked at Harry. Even his small smile, for he wasn't trying to hide that he and Ginny had a conversation about something far from pretty, seemed somehow disarming in a charming way.

"Yes, sir," he said, somehow managing to sound subdued and regal all at once. Somehow she suspected he had perfected how to sound scolded but righteous all at once, too.

Harry sent her one glance, but Ginny didn't turn around from the sink to meet the gaze and so Harry followed Devlin upstairs instead.

"Did you have a good time shopping?" She heard him asking, he was always the one to try and dispel bad things.

"Yes, Mrs. Potter was very nice and helped me find a coat and shoes," he said softly. "Even though I tried on a lot of coats before we found a good one."

Was that how the child had felt, or was that just Devlin trying to put her in a good light? She somehow thought him clever enough to understand that she could hear him while he was climbing the stairs. Was he trying to reassure her? Tell her: I won't tell Harry?

Ginny stood there and cried. Cried over the things the child had made her remember about Tom Riddle, and the war, and her Harry. She cried for the child and how he didn't seem much a child at all. She cried as she realized how lucky she and Harry were, and the memory of her last realization of this fueled more tears.

How had she not remembered this feeling, each and every day since the first time, when Harry had wrapped his arms around her after the Final Battle?

Devlin could have been her James, or Albus, and his sister...Emma...could have been her Lily.

Her heart broke for the other Harry.

"Ginny?"

Harry was behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to himself.

"Ginny, baby, don't cry. What's wrong?"

"He looks like Tom, Harry. He _acts _like him. All day it was all I could think of. I never stopped to think of _why_ he acted just like him!"

Harry made some soothing sounds into her ear, obviously at a loss for words.

"Then he told me! He stood right here and asked me not to pretend to be like him! He said I have him and Tom all tangled up in my head - and I do Harry - and he told me he knows I do because he's seen himself and Tom all tangled up before. In Voldemort's mind!"

She let out a sob.

"_It's why he didn't kill me, _that's what he said to me. And then it hit me, obviously, just why he acts so perfectly like Tom Riddle - from the tilt of his head to arch of his brow! To be like him! To stay alive!"

Harry was tensing behind her and she knew it was only partly her fault - the other fault belonged to this other Voldemort.

"He'll come to work with me Gin," Harry said softly, ever the guy to try and solve the problem. He always tried to take Ginny's problems away.

"Harry-"

"Tomorrow the boys come home. I know I usually go with you but...take them out to lunch, alright? Just you and the kids. Get your head together again. I'll keep Devlin for the day. It was wrong of me to leave him alone with you."

Ginny hated herself for not arguing with me. Hated herself because she knew she needed that break - needed to see _her _family all safe and sound and as they should be. She nodded against him.

"But what will he think?"

"That I'm too busy to go to the train station. He doesn't know I'm usually there."

Ginny felt herself nodding again, soothed by his assurances.

"Now, lets get to bed, alright?"

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"I'll be up in a minute, alright?"

Harry already knew what she was going to do, even before his feet touched the first stair and the hallway painted itself green behind him. She was going to call Hermione - because there was no one better to help you sort out your thoughts than Hermione.

OoOoOoOoOoO

The next morning Harry woke up early to get himself and Devlin up and out before Ginny woke up. He suspected he'd have to bribe Devlin with breakfast from somewhere to get the boy up this early, but was surprised that all he has to do is whisper the boy's name outside his door.

"You can come in," he said from the other side and Harry opened the door slowly. Devlin was still in his pajama's, but he was sitting at his desk, playing around with a small black object. The closer he got, the more it looked like a miniature backpack. "I was waiting for you to wake up. I knew your wards would react if I used magic before you were awake."

How clever of the boy. Harry chose to neither confirm nor deny the boys assumption.

"What is that?"

"My backpack - shrunken."

"Oh..."

"Would you like to unshrink it for me?" He asked, holding the bag out to Harry, who took the bag, placed it on the floor, and unshrunk it with a simple wand wave.

"Why do you have a shrunken backpack?"

"In case of emergencies. I got stuck once in the woods and I didn't have what I needed."

Harry nodded. It was really too hard for him to have a proper conversation this early in the morning, before consuming some heavy doses of coffee.

"You're coming to work with me," he said, incase the boy had forgotten.

"I remembered," he replied easily, opening the backpack up. He pulled out a pair of robes that looked more expensive than anything Harry would trust his children in day-to-day. It was a deep green, like the child's eyes. It closed at the neck with a set of intricately carved toggles made of an amber colored wood. It screamed 'wizard'. "Do you mind, sir? I'll only be a moment."

Harry nodded quickly and waited for the boy in the hallway. The house was still hushed with sleep and Harry could hear his own breathing.

Finally Devlin opened the door. He could see a white shirt peeking out from underneath the robes and as the boy leaned to grab the knob and close the door, he could see grey pants underneath too. Both things that would have been entirely suitable to wear without the robe.

_I think he's been taught to hate Muggles _Ginny had said to him in a whisper, when she had finally come to bed last night. It certainly seemed to Harry that he didn't want to be mistaken as one. Harry must have looked at the robes too long, because the boy fidgeted slightly.

"Are we walking? I can take it off while we walk through the Muggle streets."

"No, no - we're Apperating."

Devlin nodded. There was a vial in his hands and after he seemed pleased with Harry's answer, he lifted it and held it out for Harry to take. Harry took it from him, his gaze questioning on the boy.

"I get sick sometimes," the boy said softly, like he rather didn't like admitting he ever failed. "When I do, I have to drink that."

"Sick?"

His gaze averted.

"If I start shaking, you _have_ to give that to me. I have seizures."

"Isn't that a Muggle thing...? Were you born with it?"

"My seizures stem from a magical curse and have no direct 'cure'. My brain misfires when I am extremely stressed."

Harry frowned. He leaned forward. They were too close to Lily's room for his own comfort.

"From Crucio?"

The boy nodded.

"It's what happens, moments before you just become...nothing..."

Harry nodded, remembering his good friend Neville.

"Alright. I'll keep it in my robe pocket today. Do you have more?"

"Yes...but if I am here a while, I'll need to brew more."

Another nod. Harry didn't know what else to say. They were in the downstairs hallway now.

"We can Apperate here," he said, because it was all he could think to say. The child nodded, seemingly fine with the change of subject.

Ginny hadn't been lying when she'd told him the boy wouldn't have any problem with the Apperation. Before he knew it, they were on his work floor. The child _knew _the Ministry layout, that much was clear.

"There are going to be a lot of people up here," Harry warned, but the warning seemed to have little effect on Devlin at all. Perhaps he was used to big crowds. "We'll start in my office where Hermione is going to meet us."

The elevator doors opened and Devlin sauntered out, slightly ahead of him. Like he knew what he was doing.

There was a long table set up at the end of the wide hallway and there were dozens of people working on the table top. Papers and books were strewn across it's surface. Titles like: "Traveling Time", "Catching Yourself Upside-down", "The Fable of Another World", "The Wizard's Unknown Twin", "Two Souls: Sharing Space", "The History of Time Turners", "The Fickleness of Time Turners", "Portals, Channels, and Bridges to Other Places", and "The Fork In Time."

Devlin wasn't too terribly interested in the people yet. This Harry would introduce him to whoever was most important. He walked by the tables, looking at the books, peeking at a page or two. Now Harry was in front of him, leading him towards the office Devlin has already been in.

Then he saw her. He would know her anywhere, even in a crowd like this. Even in a sea of uniforms.

Her blue eyes were focused on some papers laid out on the table, her hands deftly arranging them and her lips were moving, silent spells and charms slipping past them and into her work. Others were around her, calling her name and requesting this or that - she responded without once looking up.

Harry Potter had walked right past her, but Devlin can't - he stopped right in front of her, the table top separating them. Her face was calm and beautiful with that edge of pure focus that Devlin never could get enough of seeing. It was what they shared.

There was no worry in her eyes. No stress between her brows. The only lines on her face were laugh lines.

Devlin was frozen.

Was this what she would have looked like, if Voldemort had died before Harry Potter had started a family? Was this what she would have looked like, without Devlin? Was she happier not knowing that she was Voldemort's daughter?

Suddenly she looked up and her sharp blue eyes were looking at him.

"Hello, may I help you?" She asked, regarding him intently from across the table. The others around her look up too, but only for a moment. This Harry has finally realized that Devlin isn't next to him, but he has paused further up, observing. "Are you Devlin, then?"

"Yes," he said softly, unable to say more. She was breathtaking, even here at work with her hair hastily pulled back. She was just like _his. _Except she looked younger.

"Well, hello then," she said, smiling warmly, but her eyes kept flickering back to the work Devlin was keeping her from.

"Devlin?" This Harry was next to him now, with his bright green eyes looking down at him. Those green eyes that lacked so much of that sadness. Those eyes that laughed.

"Hello, Harry. I was just talking to Devlin," she said softly, kindly.

"That's alright, erm...I'm sorry I don't quite have everyone's names down yet..."

"Alexandra," Devlin said automatically, before he could stop himself. "She has a badge," he said, to save himself.

"Right. Glad to see you here, Alexandra," Harry said. Devlin could see realization hit him as the name left his mouth. He smiled politely at her, his hand reaching down to rest on Devlin's shoulder. "We'll see you later," he said and then he was leading Devlin by his shoulder down the hall, towards his office.

"Is she...?'

Devlin looked back up at Harry, whose green eyes were looking down at him. There was so much kindness in those eyes. Perhaps his parents hadn't been right for each other. Maybe it had only been Devlin and Emma keeping them together. Maybe if his father had been with Ginny, he would have fought like this Harry too.

Harry was still waiting for an answer. They were almost to that office now. Suddenly it was as if it were haunted, and Devlin didn't want to go there.

He remembered the first time he had ever come to this office - with Geoffrey. Straight from Voldemort. _Rescue_, his father had called it when Geoffrey had taken him from Voldemort and brought him back to his father, but back then, Devlin had felt as if it were kidnapping.

He remembered all the kindness that had been in his father's eyes then. He hadn't seen the man in four years. He had tried so hard to pretend he didn't exist. Harry Potter - it was dangerous to connect yourself with him around Voldemort. There were two worlds Devlin had grown up in and in each one, one part of him was 'bad'. With Death Eaters, it was bad to be a Potter, with Order Members, it was bad to be related to Voldemort.

Maybe it was all his fault.

He was half aware of Harry bending down to look him in the eyes. Harry was still waiting for an answer, but Devlin can't. He can't breathe. Can't think. Can't make himself say what he should.

"It's alright, Devlin. It must be so hard seeing her and her not knowing you. Let's get to my office, alright?"

Devlin should nod. He should cry. He should lean forward and grab Harry. He should put his head on Harry's shoulder. He should act like a normal boy, but Devlin has never been very good at doing normal boy things.

He can't think. Can't breathe. Can't make himself do or say what he should.

So he says something he shouldn't.

"She's probably dead," he said instead - the thing he hadn't meant to say and shouldn't have said.

Harry froze in the middle of straightening himself to stand up. They were only ten steps away from his office door.

He remembered the first time he had been there and how his mother had come through that very door. He remembered the kindness in her eyes too. They were so kind, no matter how furious he had been at them, no matter how much like Tom he had acted.

"Who is probably dead?" Harry asked, very quietly, moving them towards his office very slowly.

"My mum," he said, his voice empty. Empty as it had been when he had killed that first man.

Harry's heart was beating faster and faster, even as he willed his movements to slow down. He opened the door and there was Hermione, right where she was supposed to be, looking slightly annoyed. He was probably late. Her pursed lips falter at Harry's face. Harry closed the door and turned Devlin around so that all he could see was the door and Harry.

All Devlin could see were the green eyes that were so alive. So like he wanted his own Harry's eyes to be. These eyes haunt him.

"What do you mean, Devlin?" His voice was shaking and Devlin tipped his head, because his father's voice wouldn't shake like this.

"He'd want her dead. She's a weakness because I care about her. He'd duel her, if he had too. She's not that good at dueling." He can feel himself succumbing to the numbness.

"What are you talking about, Devlin? Is this about your cut? About all the blood?" There was dawning horror in Harry's eyes and Devlin knew he was mere seconds away from realizing just what kind of thing Devlin must have come from. Devlin looked away.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"Devlin, please, tell me..."

But Devlin couldn't.

"Voldemort was near you and your mum?" Harry knew it must be true from the boys avoidance.

"Everyone. He was near everyone," the words fall from him numbly as a mere fact that he can no longer keep just to himself.

"Did you...did you run away?"

"Yes..."

Harry's arms wrap around him quickly.

"It's alright Devlin. Your mum will be okay. Your dad - he'll protect her."

Harry expected the boy to calm down, but instead he just shoved him away, roughly.

"You shouldn't care!" He said bitingly, before he could stop himself. "It wasn't _you_ there!"

"I do care!" Harry said, defensive and emotional and horrified for what he was beginning to expect the child had come from.

"But you shouldn't!"

Hermione sucked in a breath.

"Oh Merlin," she said softly. Her face is as white as muggle paper. "Oh Merlin, Harry..."

Devlin has pushed himself against the door, frantic. He can feel his world unweaving.

"Devlin," Harry begged. He wanted to help the boy. He wanted to reassure him.

"Harry...he already told you what happened..."

"What do you mean, Hermione?" He said, exasperated with her.

"He already told you. He's been telling us all along. _You _fought, Harry. Devlin's already told you what happened by telling you what _you_ did, over and over again. You fought. Not his Harry."

Harry's eyes swerved back to the frantic child. He almost couldn't comprehend the action, or the inaction, that Hermione was swearing this other Harry hadn't taken - and this boys eyes were confirming. He thought back to that terrifying day in a way he hadn't before, and then he froze quite suddenly.

"You were there," he said, because didn't care how many different worlds there were - in every one of them, Harry had fought. He refused to believe otherwise. "You were there with him - with your dad."

His small chest was heaving up and down, his eyes were wide and terrified, his little hands were curled as fits at his sides. He wasn't crying. He wasn't whimpering. He was struggling to reel in every human reaction.

Harry was at a loss for words. Had it worked in this boys world as it had in his? He wanted desperately to tell the boy everything would be alright, but the words died on his tongue. The boy hadn't told him enough for him to be sure everything _would _be okay for that Harry.

"Devlin..."

"Don't touch me!" The boy roared and his magic was so strong in the air that it was almost tangible. "You don't know a thing about me or my dad!"

"No...I don't. I wish I did. I wish I could help you." He's never felt the boys magic like this before, all around him. Even when the child had been upset in Dumbledore's office, his magic had stayed almost-dormant. He had known this morning that the child was exceedingly intelligent, keenly observant, and certainly gifted with spells, but he hadn't known until now that he was equally as powerful.

He remembered how James' magic had felt at this age, vast but undefined, like the way smoke fills a large room but would be more potent if it were contained in a smaller vessel. Albus' magic had always been more like his, swirling around him, keeping him safe.

None of Harry's children have ever had magic like this. This was magic that was there, ready for the child to demands. This was magic that could be taught, molded, modeled. This was magic that despite two years at Hogwarts, was still able to be 'wild'.

Right now, Harry knew if he didn't do something fast, he'd be a witness to a sort of wild magic he'd never seen before.

The boy bared his teeth at him, overwhelmed and frantic.

"Maybe...maybe we could compare stories, Devlin," Harry said, desperate to know if he could help the boy.

"I don't want to hear your bloody story!" He said, leaning forward to seem intimidating. "Your story has nothing to do with me!"

"I-"

"I'm done talking about this!" He said, scathingly. His eyes were storming, his chest heaving...his body shaking. Harry nodded - what else could he do?

"Alright," he assured, raising his hands a bit in a gesture of submission on the subject. Harry tried to think on his feet. He need to distract this boy. He was a moment away from something explosive. "How about if we go for a walk?"

"A walk? You think a bloody walk is going to help?"

"Alright, no walk." Harry stood up quickly, told Hermione to go sit behind his desk, and began to rearrange the furniture. Devlin watched him, still shaking, from the door. Finally, Harry stood against the wall opposite him, erected a powerful shield and said, "Hit me with your best."

For a moment Devlin just looked at him, as if he had gone insane, then he slowly lifted his wand and fired off a cutting spell. Harry thought the boy could do much better. He dispelled the curse.

"Come on, you have more magic than that, right?"

The boy growled lowly and his wand arm came forward a bit more. A dueling position.

He shot another cutting curse and this time Harry could feel the weight of it against his shields.

Before his shield had fully absorbed that curse, Devlin had fired another. Harry grinned, because this boys magic was amazing. He rather thought the boy would be a good dueler, if he had training.

"Alright, now hit me with some magic. Just some magic - do you know how to do that?"

"Like wild magic?" The child asked, his eyes alight with his magic.

"Yes, but controlled."

"I know how to do that," he said, smugly. He closed his eyes for a moment and his chest rose with a deep breath. For a moment Harry thought his eyes would be amber when he opened them again, but they were the same deep green. He pocketed his wand. Harry took a breath, preparing himself.

Devlin raised his hands and cupped them together. When he opened them, there was a tiny glowing red bird. He repeated the action three times. Then he released the red, green, and yellow birds towards Harry.

They disintegrated upon impact, of course, but afterwards there were visible cracks in his blue shield where they had landed.

"That was a neat trick," Harry said, his own eyes alight.

Hermione was watching them, her eyes bright and alert. She looked like she wanted to ask a dozen questions.

"Thank you."

"Can I ask where you learned it?"

Devlin looked at him for a long moment as if Harry were simply missing something.

"It's the same as the flower..." he said softly, as if he thought Harry crazy for missing the fact.

"Oooh. I guess I missed the similarity, seeing as the lily this morning didn't attack me..."

Devlin chuckled and gave an acknowledging nod.

"I suppose that is a fair point."

Harry glanced at the clock on his desk and took a deep breath.

"I have to talk to some people on your case before lunch...do you want to come with Hermione and I, or wait here?"

"I'll come with you," he said, then arched an eyebrow at Harry's hesitant regard. "Don't worry, I know how to be well behaved even in the most foul of moods."

Somehow, that did little to settle Harry's stomach, but he nodded regardless and went to open the door.

Out in the 'hallway', the wizard's and witch's were working hard at the tables. There were airplane messages flying all over the place. He led the way over to the wizard who had examined Slughorn's classroom for magical residue.

"Bernard, how is the report coming along?" The older man had stock white hair and thick glasses.

"Well, good for the castle, you might say. For us, er...not very telling, honestly Mr. Potter. A bit of a draw back, you see, that there are so many people in and out of the room. Makes it difficult, as you might imagine, to separate strands of residue magic."

He also tended to mumble and ramble, but he was here because he was the best.

"Do you think it is a lost cause then?"

The man looked up.

"No, no, no," he said, slowly. "More time is required, though. At least a week more. I will need samples of magic from the child, and the teacher."

"Ah, of course. I'll owl Slughorn. Devlin will be back here tomorrow."

The man looked over at Devlin, who Harry had just motioned towards.

"Hmm, are you the young man then?" Devlin nodded. "Interesting adventure you're on, if I do say so myself. You know...you look very familiar...but that can't be, William from The Magical Registry, said you don't have a 'twin' here. He checked three times, he told me. He can't be mistaken, I don't think. William is a good boy...but you still look like someone I know...oh Merlin...it will come to me as soon as you leave, you know."

Devlin laughed charmingly.

"Isn't that when the best of thoughts comes to us - when we least need them?"

The old man nodded. Devlin smiled politely. Harry took a deep breath, relieved to see the boy at least the tiniest bit relaxed.

"Yes, indeed. Well...I'll get magic from you tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, alright. Harry, you go on ahead and find someone to talk to that's done with their assignment." He shooed them away, like a parent would to an errant child.

The next person they spoke to was Zachary, who spotted them across the hall and sprinted after them.

"Harry, wait!" He said, catching up with them finally. He pushed his glasses up his nose. "You said Devlin might talk to me today about his worlds timeline," he said, slightly breathless.

"Devlin, this is Zachary Reed, and he is normally employed by the Ministry as a Historian. Right now," Harry winked at Devlin, "he has two agendas - one is that he is supposed to learn if there is something that brought you to this world in your timeline, like if perhaps there was a collision of events that were previously delayed in your world or in ours. The second is that he would very much like an interview with you."

"Oh yes, I would. It would be a great honor, to be able to publish an interview with a child from another world."

Devlin frowned at him softly.

"You want to interview me?" He asked, as if disbelieving. "What good would I have for you? Hasn't Harry told you what my world is like - it's not a fairy tale there."

"Er...actually Harry hasn't told me anything...he ah, said I'd have to get it straight from your mouth."

Devlin frowned again, sneaking a glance at Harry.

"I'll try and line up our timelines for you, but I'm not giving an interview. My father taught me never to trust reporters," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Oh...alright.."

Harry put a hand on the young mans disappointed shoulder.

"See you later, Zachary."

He nodded and tromped back over to his desk.

"Ready for some lunch, Devlin?" Harry asked. Devlin nodded.

They had lunch at small muggle cafe right outside the Ministry entrance. Devlin seemed perfectly comfortable in the environment and had even charmed his own robes into a jacket before Harry had needed to remind him. He had ordered a sandwich and pop and had been anything but rude to the waitress.

"Ginny thought you didn't like Muggles," he said softly. Devlins eyes roamed back to Harry.

"They're alright. They can't do anything for you, really, but there is nothing wrong with them, I suppose."

"What do you mean, they can't do anything for you?"

"Well, they haven't magic, so it's not like...nevermind. I don't have much practice with them, either."

"Don't you ever go out to eat in the muggle world?"

"Not really - we don't eat out much. At least, not with me."

"Er...is there something I should know about taking you out...?" Harry asked, grinning.

Devlin actually laughed.

"No. It's just...grandfather would come for me...if he could sense me outside of wards."

Harry nodded solemnly, his picture of the boy getting more and more accurate, he thought.

"Well, theres no need for that worry here," Harry said softly.

"Yeah...sorta weird, honestly," he said, looking around the small cafe.

When they had finished their meal, Harry and he disapperated in an alleyway next to the establishment and appeared behind a thick bunch of hedges at the corner of the block. They walked back to the house, talking about their favorite meals served at Hogwarts.

When they went through wards around the house, Devlin noticed that the steps were empty like they had appeared to be from the street.

There was a dark haired, green-eyed boy waiting for them.

Upcoming (or something like it):

Their eyes met, emerald green to dark green, innocent to far too hardened. Albus was a handsome boy, just like Devlin, but there was still some of that boyish chubbiness clinging to his cheeks whereas Devlin's bodywas more lean and strong looking.

"Hello," he said softly, and Devlin frowned at his lack of exuberance. "Professor Slughorn told me about you," he added cautiously as he approached. Devlin stood perfectly still, unwilling to be fazed by a boy, even if that boy did look very much like his father. Slughorn...that was short stout man that had come up beside Harry to _fight _Devlin. The man who would have been Voldemort's Potion Master.

"Oh, really?" Devlin said and he finds his teeth baring a bit. "All perfectly polite things, eh?"

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	7. More Slytherin

When they went through wards around the house, Devlin noticed that the steps weren't empty like they had appeared to be from the street. There was a dark haired, green-eyed boy waiting for them.

Their eyes met, emerald green to dark green, innocent to far too hardened. Albus was a handsome boy, just like Devlin, but there was some of that boyish chubbiness clinging to his cheeks whereas Devlin's body was more lean looking.

"Hello," he said softly, and Devlin frowned at his lack of exuberance. "Professor Slughorn told me about you," he added cautiously as he approached. He was wearing a simple green shirt and Muggle jeans, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Devlin stood perfectly still, unwilling to be fazed by a boy, while he let the Professor's name settle into his mind. Behind his eyelids, his mind worked quickly to link every fact he knew about the man, through a web of pictures, impressions and quotes others had said.

Above all else, one stood out: "_I learned of the Darkest Magic at Hogwarts, Devlin. Right under Dumbledore's nose. It was not easy, of course - such things require finesse and charm, but eventually I acquired the information I needed from the Head of House, Slughorn. He was all to eager to be impressive, you see. Especially to someone like me, who he felt would be great one day." _

"Oh, really?" Devlin said and he found his teeth baring a bit. "All perfectly polite things, eh?"

"Well no...he thinks you're someone you couldn't possibly be," Albus had the decency to admit and enough intelligence to dismiss.

Harry stepped forward so that he was between them, but off to the side. Devlin's father would have been fingering his wand right now, but this Harry didn't know what Devlin was capable of and all he was worrying about was a child's argument.

"I'm sure he does," he said quietly. "We are haunted most by what we regret, after all," he finished and without another word, he walked away, up the walkway. Albus followed after him, jogging to catch up.

"I told him you weren't," the boy said, defensive.

Devlin paused for a moment and frowned up into those innocent eyes.

"I don't care what he thinks of me," he said firmly. "He's not important at all."

Harry was near them again now and there was a frown playing at his lips as he listened to Devlin. He came to put a hand on Albus's shoulder and whispered 'we'll meet you inside'. Albus nodded, sent one last look back at the strange boy and went into the house. After the boy had disappeared behind the front door, Harry turned to him.

"Do you really not care?" He asked softly, coming closer.

"Why should I?"

Harry tipped his head and arched a brow, a thoughtful frown tugging at his lips. Devlin stood still, unfamiliar with this quiet patience.

"You seem to care what I think of you. You could have been rude to Lily and now to Albus, but you've been nice, especially to Lily. You try not to act like him around Ginny...it seems to me you are being very polite to the people in my life."

Devlin frowned. Of course he was, but did this Harry have to point it out?

"You're important," he said curtly, his eyes glued to Harry because if he looked away now, it would be like shouting that he wasn't sure of himself - that this wasn't how he normally acted.

Harry looked like he wanted to ask why, but then he nodded curtly and pulled the question inside of himself once more. The boy had said he didn't want to talk about 'it' and right now that was all that was on Harry's mind - he'd end up leading them back towards 'it' if he asked the boy too many questions now.

"Let's go in, alright?" Devlin nodded, just as curtly. Harry wondered what questions he was keeping to himself.

When they went in, it was to find the boy propped against the hallway wall, right across from the kitchen, shaking his head to something someone must have said from the kitchen. He looked away from the kitchen the moment the door opened. Green eyes. Devlin tried hard not to be disturbed by them.

"Hi," he said happily, but with the tiniest hint of caution.

"Hello," Devlin said, shrugging off his cloak and allowing Harry to hang it next to his.

"Want to come see my room?"

Devlin glanced back at Harry, who simply smiled. Harry wanted him to get along with Albus, so Devlin would. He wanted one Harry happy, at least. One Harry alive.

"Alright."

A grin overtook Albus' features.

"I hope you don't do that in Slytherin very often," he said softly as they fell into step next to each other.

"What's wrong with smiling?"

"Smiling is fine," Devlin said, and kept going despite the soft chuckle he heard from Harry behind him, "but _that_ was a victory smile and you could have a bit more decorum. You don't have to prove to me and everyone else that you've won."

Albus frowned.

"You know...a lot of people tell me that I'm 'rubbing' things in...maybe it's cause I do that? I don't think I'm a very good Slytherin," the last part was whispered.

"I don't think so either, but an ounce of Slytherin usually makes you a horrendous Gryffendor. Their are exceptions, of course." They passed Ginny in the hallway and Devlin was surprised to see her smiling as she heard them.

"The hat said I was a Slytherin," Albus confided. "I tried to change it's mind."

"Well then, you've just been surrounded by Gryffendors, is all. You'll figure it out."

"You're in Slytherin too, huh?"

Devlin smirked.

"Oh, yes."

"Maybe you could help me act more Slytherin."

Devlin turned a bit at the words, while the boy opened up his bedroom door.

"Yeah, maybe," he said tentatively, still aware of Ginny in the hallway.

The boys room was painted a ruddy gold, his bedding in hues of greenish-blue and a large collection of flying _stuff_ piled and hung around the place. It looked nothing like Devlin's room. Albus settled himself on his bed. Devlin stayed nearer to the door.

"You don't look exactly like him, you know. Professor Slughorn said you did, but you don't. I looked his pictures up." Albus' head was titled in thoughtfulness.

Devlin's brow crumpled as he took in the boys words. He thought that this boy was the first person to ever claim so bluntly that he didn't look 'just like his Grandfather'. He was so surprised and shocked that he couldn't think of something to say back to the boy.

"Dad says you're a Potter," Albus continued in a whisper, like he knew something the others didn't. "The Potter's are related to the Gaunts, from the Pervell brothers...perhaps that's why-"

"He looks like his father, who was a muggle," Devlin interjected. Albus blinked, his brow wrinkling - probably at having his whole logic simply tugged from under his feet.

"Oh...then...how?"

Devlin leaned close to the boy, his voice falsely effusive as he whispered: "Do you _really_ want to know?"

Albus didn't even pull away, he simply modded - resolutely.

"We're family, right? Even if our connection is really weird. I want to know."

Devlin frowned at the boy, his killing curse eyes boring into him, his chin jutted out in stubbornness, his hands curled as fists on his lap.

"I'm _his_ as well," Devlin whispered. Albus' face went white for a moment, before the pink came rushing back with force.

"How?"

"Through my mum, of course. How else can I be a Potter as well?"

The boy licked his lips and then tilted his head again in thought.

"That's bloody cool," the boy finally said, the pink still in his cheeks, his breath airy as it came from his lungs only half used. Devlin hadn't been expecting that answer. "Well, I guess it's not really cool, because it must be hard and people must think badly of you, but beside that, it's pretty cool. I mean, you can speak to snakes, yeah?" Devlin nodded. "Awesome. Snakes scare Lily, did you know?"

No, of course Devlin hadn't known. He stared at the boy, perplexed and a bit disturbed. This was the final proof of the boys innocence, because no one who had known Voldemort would ever use his name and 'cool' in the same sentence.

"Do you like quidditch?"

"I like flying," he said slowly, aware the boy was making a boy attempt at a conversation change, "but I don't have time for the game."

"I want to be a Seeker, like my dad. Are you any good at the game?"

"I guess."

"My dad has a snitch, you know," Albus said, a gleam entering his eyes. "Wanna ask if we can use it? I have an extra broom, too."

"What is in it for me?"

Albus looked at him oddly for a moment.

"You would usually want to give me a motivation, since I've already expressed I don't particularly love the game."

"You said you didn't have time for it."

"If I loved it, I would make time for it," he replied, shrugging.

"Well then...what do you want?"

"Do you know the password to the library?"

"We haven't got one - but dad has some books in his study."

"Alright...do you know the password to his study?"

Albus looked at him oddly again.

"You just want books?"

"Yes - about the history of this world."

"I don't think you'll find many on that but the password to enter is Lemon Drops, and the password to _his_ books is 'Riddle Me This'."

Devlin smirked.

"Let's go play," he said and Albus jumped up to hand him a broom. They raced down the stairs to find Harry speaking with Ginny in the kitchen.

"Dad?" Albus shouted from the doorway. "Can Devlin and I play with the snitch?"

"Ah, sure," Harry said, but then he frowned at Ginny's cautioning glare. "But since I haven't see Devlin fly before, I'll come watch you," he glanced at Ginny the whole time he said this, as if to make sure he had said the right thing. She nodded slightly and Harry got up to retrieve his jacket and the snitch.

Outside the cold air whipped by Devlin's hair and snuck into his lungs. He grinned. Albus was shivering.

"Why aren't you cold?" He whined, rubbing his hands together.

"I'm a wizard," he said, smirking. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Then stop acting like a muggle and warm yourself up!"

Devlin reached out to touch the boys hands with his own warm ones and Albus's eyes went wide.

"How can you do that?"

Harry was watching them from a deck that Devlin only partly recalled from his sprint into the night earlier that week.

"I donno...I just got cold enough once that I warmed myself up."

"Why didn't you just put a coat on?" Albus asked, confused and looking at him oddly again.

"I hadn't one to put on."

"Why not?"

"Because I am a wizard and grandfather insisted I prove it to him. He said I would either turn blue, or I would warm myself up," Devlin touched the boy again, "obviously, I proved myself."

"That wasn't very nice, though," Albus pointed out.

"It's the way he learned, I suppose," Devlin said, shrugging, and mounting his broom. Albus seemed stuck on the last thought for a long moment, but then he mounted his own broom. Harry was watching them, ready to release the snitch as soon as they were up in the air.

The air whipped through Devlin's hair, the cool air filled his lungs, and he felt exhilaration rush through his system.

"Ready?" Harry shouted from below them. Albus nodded and Harry released the little golden ball. Albus dashed for it of course, but Devlin was far to busy feeling what flying always made him feel - real. He felt real up here - like whatever himself must feel like.

"Are you even playing?" Albus shouted, now far away from Devlin's hovering form. Devlin tugged his broom handle upward, and felt himself take off like a rocket. His eyes were closed and he opened the just as he felt the wards engage him - refusing his further ascent. He circled around the top of the dome like ward, looking down at Albus, who was intently looking for the golden ball. But Devlin didn't need to look, he had seen it the moment Harry had released it and it had followed him up in his exhilaration. It had always liked him, like it had liked his father.

"Hello," he said to the tiny thing, and for a moment it's wings fluttered as if in reply, before it zoomed away from him - straight down. Devlin followed, spiraling tightly as he went. Albus had caught his movement and flown over to try and seek the Snitch out as well, but by the time he has positioned his broom to go downward as well, Devlin's hand is already clasped around the winged object.

"Where'd it go?" Albus asked, approaching him, panting and shivering all at once.

"Right here," Devlin said, showing his hand.

"How'd you know it was way up there?" Albus asked, his voice a bit indignant as they descended. Devlin turned to him when they had landed, Harry approaching them.

"I didn't. It followed me."

"That was some amazing control," Harry said, grinning. "I haven't seen flying like that in a long time!"

"I thought you didn't like the game," Albus grumbled, obviously having thought he would be an easy win.

"I don't," Devlin replied evenly, handing he Snitch back to Harry. "But it's nice to know I beat you as well as made you pout."

Albus frowned a bit and Harry almost intervened, but then Albus' face twitched and the pout disappeared.

"I'm not pouting," he said.

"Well if you're not - don't bother responding to me about it," Devlin replied. "Now, you want to find a snake to scare Lily with?"

"Absolutely!" Albus cheered, and together they abandoned their brooms and went into the backyard on a small adventure. Harry watched them with a smile. Perhaps Devlin would be just what Albus needed, and he had a small feeling that Albus would be good for Devlin, as well. He shook his head as he picked up the dropped brooms and brought them onto the deck, out of danger.

**Sorry for the shortness, but I have been kinda busy and this month I was more inspired to write Riddle and Rescue (the brand new - definitely VERY different rewrite of Devlin Potter's original story). This is my present to you - I'd love a review in return! :D**

**Here's a quote from it: **The boy nodded and Geoffrey lifted him. His hair tickled the nape of Geoffrey's neck as the boy put his head down again. A little fist was curled around the front of his robes, the other slung over Geoffrey's shoulder.

"I couldn't find you," the boy whispered softly, half asleep.

"I know. I'll tell you tomorrow," Geoffrey said, nuzzling the boy. The cool air whipped at Geoffrey's face the moment they exited the tent. It felt good against his hot skin, cooling down his worry. It made it just a bit easier to think straight.

_Tomorrow it will be too late,_ his mind whispered in a moment of clarity. _Voldemort will know. You will be dead._

**Geoffrey brings Devlin back that night, and things go quite a bit differently from there. :) **


	8. Sleepless

**Alright, so I'll just apologize by saying I was scrounging through my computer and found the chapter 8 I'd originally wrote and it is just MUCH better. So, here it is. Chapter nine follows and is really rewritten so skip past the dream if you like, but read the rest. Honest. YOU NEED TO RE-READ IT! **

READ THIS CHAPTER!

But of course, the ground was covered with a new layer of frost over the snow and they weren't about to find any snakes. They played around for a while, enjoyably distracted, until their breath was coming hot and quick in the cold air and Ginny was coming out to call them in.

"We haven't a snake though," Albus said, hushed as he leaned close to Devlin.

"Oh well," Devlin said, shrugging and Albus nodded. The snake seemed of little importance in the face of all the fun.

Ginny held the door open for them to enter, tutting about Albus' wet clothes.

"It's not fair, you're not bothering Devlin!" Albus' whined. Devlin raised an eyebrow at the unobserving boy.

"I'm not wet," he said, his eyebrow still arched. "Because-"

"Yeah, yeah, you're a wizard, I know."

Devlin smirked.

There was food on the table, hot and steaming with an aroma that reminded him of visiting with Freddie's grandmum. Albus hung up his coat.

"Wash up while I find your brother," Ginny finished, as she cast a drying charm on Albus' coat.

Devlin went over to the sink and washed up quickly, followed by Albus. Lily entered the kitchen with Harry right behind her.

Finally, the oldest boy -James- came in, practically chased by his mother. He had Ron's height, Harry's hair, and Ginny's eyes. He had a haughty air about him and he was dressed in muggle clothes. Devlin wasn't surprised, since he had a dresser full of his left overs.

"I said sorry, mum. I thought it was Alby at my door."

"That's no excuse for that kind of language, James!"

The boy settled at the table, grumbling and then everyone began to eat. There was conversation about classes and friends and winter homework.

Devlin listened to it all, bewildered. Is this what a family sounded like? It reminded him a bit of Freddie when they all ate at Mrs. Weasley's, but even there, the adults would share _looks_ and speak in round-about-ways that they hoped the children couldn't completely understand.

"What are you learning, Devlin?" Ginny asked, eyes on her plate. Still, she had made the effort.

"We just started this year, so not much so far, but last year we learned lot of things like Lumos, Nox, sticking charms, hover charms, incendio, shield charms, although we're not expected to master it yet, turning non-living things into other non-living things, turning living things into non-living things, like a beetle into a button, switching charms, summoning charms - those sorts of things."

All the eyes were on him.

It was James that had the first reaction - laughter. It grated on his nerves, like the laughter the older year Slytherin's had directed at him when they had thought him disloyal to Voldemort. He felt the same desire to prove his worth and his _strength_ as he had then.

"I bet you can't do half of that!" He said, smiling unkindly at him. Lily looked almost convinced of the same, Ginny looked uncertain, Albus looked like he was about to defend him (even if he also looked as if he didn't quite believe), and Harry - Harry was sending him a knowing smile. The regard took a bit of the edge off of Devlin's feelings and he was able to take a deep breath.

"That would be a poor bet," he said softly, looking all the picture of politeness with a charming smile in perfect place. "And I'm afraid I couldn't let you make such a bet, because I know the truth and you obviously don't."

"You're a Slytherin, I bet," he said, scowling. "They're always lying."

"Hey!" Albus shouted, but James waved a dismissive hand and mumbled something about 'Alby not being a proper Slytherin anyways'.

"But what can you expect when Voldemort came from that house, right? I mean-"

But Devlin had shot across the table, leaning forward just enough that his body didn't land in any of the serving dishes.

_'I should have known your manners would go with your name,_" he hissed, scowling. Harry was on his feet in an instant, pushing Devlin back. James was watching him, a bit petrified, if Devlin was honest.

"You can...you can..."

"I can speak to snakes," he said, baring his teeth. "I can also preform every single spell I said I could, probably ten times better than you."

After a moment Devlin's eyes found Harry's and he expected to see that fear _now_. He dreaded it's appearance.

It wasn't there, instead there was disappointment, directed at both of them.

"James, I expect better of you - you know that houses have nothing to do with the people in them."

"Yeah, alright. Still, he's being a show off. But ah," the older boys eyes glanced at him, his arms crossed. "Sorry for saying those things about you and your house."

"It's alright." It wasn't, but Devlin knew when to act forgiving.

Eventually the meal was over and they all moved into the living room. Lily shouted for a game of Exploding Snap and it was only James the refused. Devlin had contemplated refusing, but he didn't particularly like the oldest boy and wasn't keen on doing the same as him.

So James climbed to his room and everyone else settled around the coffee table. There were roars of laughter and cries of indignity from Lily when one explosion powdered her nose grey. Devlin watched them all. He was getting tired and it was getting harder and harder to force himself to act like Albus - happy and _normal_.

He was thankful when the game was over and Albus bounded up the stairs beside him, triumphant that he had won. Albus looked almost disappointed to bid him goodnight, and Devlin tried to reciprocate the emotion, but he really couldn't - because all he wanted was to be alone for a moment.

He lay on his bed, shoes still in place, shirt still buttoned all the way, and heaved a sigh.

There was no Zee here to lay his hand on.

He thought of her first, of course. How couldn't he? There was no other Harry to worry about, but _her_...he felt desperate worry in his gut about the other her. She led to thoughts of Emma, and that led to the cold ache returning in his stomach twice as bad.

Was this what heartache felt like? Was this the kind of worry that had lived in his own parent's stomaches for years? Had he ever felt that before? He couldn't remember. Perhaps he had, that first day, huddled in the dark.

And suddenly he couldn't stand the darkness of this room and propelled himself to his feet. He snuck out the door and down the stairs.

He approached the kitchen, half expecting Harry to be there, sipping at some liquor like the other Harry had been the first night Devlin was 'home' and had snuck downstairs. The table was empty, the lights off. He moved onto the living room, but it too was dark and empty.

There was a small fire in the fireplace, casting strange tiny shadows onto the living room furniture. He stepped closer.

"What are you doing up?" He spun around to the doorframe, but there was no one there. There was a snarl and then Devlin found the speaker seated in a chair, on the wall to the right, settled in a nice-looking picture frame. The dark eyes of Severus Snape bore into him.

"Which one of you is it this time?" He snapped, as if he was used to catching the Potter children up when they should have been in bed. Devlin approached, choosing to use his appearance rather than his words. "Oh, it is _you_."

"Hello," he said softly.

"What are you doing up?" He repeated, obviously annoyed Devlin hadn't answered the first time.

"I couldn't sleep," he said softly, perching himself on the back of the sofa.

"You frightened Dumbledore a bit, you know," the man admitted, curious. "He was speaking about you after you left."

"I expect so," he said easily. There was no reason to fear Dumbledore's opinion of him here - the man had little influence now. "I look like Tom Riddle."

There was no reason to hide the fact, if Severus hadn't put it all together now, he would soon. The man was keen with people's words and reactions and unlike his Snape, this man had all the time in the world to think.

"A miniature Lord Voldemort, hmm?" The words were said without callus. "He was a pretty boy, then," and yet there was the edge to them that no one escaped when they spoke with Snape. Snape was sharp - a sharp thinking, a sharp observer, a sharp dueler and most of all, had a sharp _tongue_.

"I suppose," he said mysteriously, letting a smile spread across his features.

The man made a noise in the back of his throat.

"Oh, you don't suppose at all," he said and there was laughter to his voice. "But you are a Potter as well," he added somberly, leaning forward to observe him.

"Yes," he said simply, since that was all Snape wanted. They sat in silence for a long while.

"You had said Voldemort lived in your world?"

"Yes."

"And Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

The dark eyed man nodded, his brow creased.

"Perhaps that is the problem. Dumbledore was always more attached to Potter than he ought to be, with his goals in mind..."

Devlin frowned and he was just about to ask more, when the light turned on.

"What are you doing up?" The oldest boy asked, standing in the doorway.

"Talking to Severus," he said softly.

"You should be in bed."

"So should you, but neither of us are."

There was a hard frown on the boys face now.

"Go back upstairs."

"Why?"

He took a step in the living room, trying to tower over Devlin like he probably could Albus - but Devlin was tall for his age.

"I said go upstairs."

"I don't think so," he said easily. Snape was eying them.

"You don't even belong here! You're some weirdo from somewhere else! My Dad should have left you to the Ministry."

Devlin felt himself smirk, oddly uplifted by the fact that not _everyone _was so bloody nice and happy here.

The older boy pushed him hard, intending for him to fall backwards onto the sofa, but instead Devlin caught the boys wrist, James' left in his right, James' right in his left, and twisted. He pushed his own body against the boys.

"Don't touch me," he said softly. "You'll regret it."

The boy pulled out of his surprisingly light grasp when his shock broke and stared at him. His fists were clenched and it was only a moment before he reached out to push him again.

For a moment Devlin felt himself slip into that numbness and prepare to make his threat true, but then there was Harry, this Harry, looking at him and saying _I know who you are_ and he paused. It was enough time for James to land his shove and propel him backwards, into the back of the sofa and over the edge and onto the floor. He climbed to his knees, but the older boy was already over him.

"You alright?" He asked, clearly not having anticipated that Devlin would fall onto the floor. Devlin rose to his feet. He wanted to at least _say_ something hurtful to the boy, but before he got the chance, there was someone else rushing down the stairs. James cursed under his breath and begged Devlin not to tell.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry asked, dressed in his pajama's and with a tired scowl on his face.

"I- Devlin was down stairs and I was just telling him he should go to sleep."

Harry eyed the boy skeptically. His eyes fell on Devlin, who stood silent and without emotion in front of James. In the end it wasn't either boy who told the truth, but the portrait.

"He's lying," the dark eyed man said, who was surprising loyal to Harry as a portrait. Perhaps because Harry had made sure he hung in the same corner as a portrait of Lily Potter, which was, at the moment, empty. "I saw your boy push Devlin."

'Your boy' that was usually James. Severus seemed to limit the use of the name to rare occasions. Which was sometimes humorous, considering the man would say 'Albus' even though Albus looked _just like Harry, _and thus _just like James Potter_.

Devlin was still standing straight and frozen, his eyes oddly bright in the magical lighting, his skin a pale cream that looked almost haunting.

"Is that true, Devlin?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but to his credit, I don't think he expected to catch me by surprise and actually _move _me at all."

Harry sighed and rubbed at his temples, he was really too tired for all this. The youngest was staring at him, appraising him by his gestures.

"I'm unharmed," Devlin said evenly, "we should all go back to sleep. You're tired."

His oldest sighed behind the young boy, as if annoyed merely by the other's consideration. Which was probably true, with the teenage angst that James practically sweated. Devlin _twitched_ at the sound, but made no other motion. Harry was reminded of the boys hissed words and wondered how close the boy had been to Snape in his world.

"I- yeah I am. Thanks for being understanding Devlin. Are you sure you're alright? Do you want a pain potion?"

"I can't take them," he said in what seemed an automatic response. After the words had left him, he seemed to shrink a bit at the implication. Harry was an Auror, he knew all about the most typical reason someone couldn't take pain relieving draughts - they had either built an immunity or had an overdose - sometimes one in the same thing. With this child, Harry suspected that was the reason. Crucio and pain potions. He added it to his mental list.

"Ah - well do you want any bruise salve?"

"No," he said, laughing a bit to dispel the discomfort. "You've seen my back. A bruise is nothing." Harry nodded and James frowned and Devlin went quiet again.

"Lets go to bed then, alright?"

Devlin nodded and headed back upstairs into the guest room, still wondering about what Severus had been about to tell him.

The next morning began much as the one before had - Harry woke him up early to leave to work with him, except that they ate a quick breakfast downstairs. Albus was the only one up and he looked as if something or someone else _must _have woken him up.

"Alby, go back to sleep. You don't need to eat with us," Harry said sympathetically. But Albus shook his head. Devlin rather thought Harry had woken up _two_ boys this morning, one of whom had probably begged to be woken up last night and seemed to be regretting it this morning.

"No, I...wanted to talk to Devlin some more..." he said slowly, trying to gather his thoughts together.

"Yeah, like that is going to happen in time," Devlin said, sipping at some coffee that he had nicked before Harry had sat down at the table. Now Harry was peering at the drink and Devlin wrapped his hands protectively around the cup. He even kept one hand on the cup when he took a bite out of his toast, making Harry chuckle beside him.

"Doesn't that taste disgusting?" Albus asked, nodding towards the cup.

"Yes," he replied, taking another bite of egg.

"Then why drink it?"

"It wakes me up."

Albus looked at the liquid with new admiration, but when he turned to look at his father the man gave a quick shake of his head.

Albus hardly got any other questions in before Devlin and Harry were traveling through the floo into the Ministry.

**Yeah, sorry for the terrible update. It's short and uninspired, I suppose.**

**Maybe next I'll experiment with Devlin visiting some other AU's, as an AU of this story. ;) Any suggestions? Good Voldemort world? Bad Harry world? Tom Riddle Era? Come on, throw me some inspiring thoughts! Where would you like to see Devlin visit?**


	9. Dawning Realization?

**THIS HAS BEEN REWRITTEN. READ IT! SKIP THE DREAM IF YOU LIKE BUT READ THE REST!**

**Read the last chapter. **

**Then read this one. **

**UPDATED. **

**CHANGED. **

**YOU GET THE PICTURE - SO READ IT (and the last chapter)!**

Last chapter changed entirely - yes, I put the last warning here so if you didn't read the bold text, maybe you'd read this. Reread both chapters if you want to have a clue.

Devlin wasn't sure where his father had meant to lead them, but Bella and two other masked Death Eater's have managed to trap them at the top of a tower, where they had had little choice but to dodge into. It seemed better, Devlin supposed, than dueling in a cramped hallway.

His father's eyes were alight, his face hardened and _cruel_ looking and Devlin thought most of it had to do with Sirius, laying in the rubble one floor down, probably dead - by her hand.

"What's the matter, is Harry Potter _angry?"_ She sung, inching around the room even as Harry did the same, dragging Devlin along with him by a deadly grip on his upper arm. "I thought the Golden Boy didn't leave people behind - you should have stayed with your poor _godfather." _Devlin watched for the _hurt_ that would have normally sprung to life in his father's eyes, but there was only coldness. Harry had abandoned Sirius to save him. "All we want is the boy - Master says you're _his_ toy, Potter. So hand him over."

The grip on Devlin tightened almost painfully. Devlin's wand was sticking out of his father's robes, where he'd put it after stealing it from Devlin so he wouldn't be tempted to _do anything stupid_.

"No," he said, his voice a raspy whisper that made Devlin shiver. His green eyes were darkening, making him look more like Devlin and less like he should. Devlin tilted his head as he felt a magnetic force _twitch_ in the room and he looked around for the source, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. Then Bella lunged forward and her hair swept away with her, revealing the locket she had worn for as long as Devlin could remember. It_ twitched, _not physically, but with a magic, like a telly that's picture kept skipping, but Bella didn't seem to notice. Harry's eyes grew darker, his magic more _tangible_ and somehow Devlin just _knew._

_Horcrux._

He'd known about them for a long time, but not by their rightful name. He still remembered the curiosity that had over taken his face when he had learned, ear pressed against his father's study, what they had been hunting all School Year.

_Dumbledore seem's to think some of Voldemort's powers transferred to me, when the Killing Curse backfired._

The words floated into his thoughts, spoken with that same patience and _softness_ that his father had always spoken to him with, when they had just been reunited. He can remember the tiny snake slithering through his hands. Can remember the triumph he himself had felt, learning he could speak to them as well.

But now, he knew something else.

Harry Potter was a Horcrux.

Harry Potter wasn't himself, right now. His magic was denser, angrier, and more _there_. Like Devlin's own magic, because Devlin was like Voldemort, and Harry _was_ Voldemort right now - in some odd strange way that made Devlin's head hurt to try and fully comprehend.

Bella lunged again. His father made to pull him out of her grasp, but Devlin launched himself forward as well. There was a yell from his father, a grunt of sure-triumph from Bella, and a growl from Devlin as he twisted his body to grab his wand from his fathers pocket.

Bella's hands closed around his throat, but Devlin didn't mind, because that just put him right where he wanted to be. Potter had dropped him, seeing that holding onto him wasn't going to help at the moment, and was just lifting his wand to curse her, when Devlin jabbed his own wand into her stomach. Her skin went pink as she burned from the inside and Devlin reached up with his other hand and grabbed the locket. He severed the chain with another swipe of his wand and then he kicked her, screaming, backwards. The other two Death Eaters were reacting, and Potter threw them bag with an angry curse, grabbing him again and looking for an escape.

"We have to jump," Potter said, as they heard more footsteps racing toward Bella's screams. Devlin's gaze flickered to his father's eyes, still a dark green, and slipped the locket discretely into the man's pocket. It had a negative effect on his father, he could see, but it also brought out the fragment of _him_ in his father and right now - they would need that to _fly_.

Devlin wasn't sure it would work and he didn't think his father was sure either. The wind whipped past their bodies, binding in it's strength. The ground was coming closer and closer and Devlin felt cold hard fear grip his stomach before he felt like the locket must have, _twitch. _He felt like a manipulated magnet for a moment, forced toward the earth but repelled by it as well. _Twitch. _Suddenly they were thrown to the side, vapor, or particles, or _nothing at all_, being pulled and pushed, as empty as the air itself, feeling as dense as a stone.

They landed gently on the ground, on their feet. Devlin stole the locket back while his father was panting, looking at him - surely to see if he was injured. Curses reigned down upon them from the top of the tower and Potter tugged him along, until they were around the back of the castle, half under some rubble. Now his father looked at the locket in Devlin's hands.

"How did you...?"

"I know what it is," he said softly, but bit his tongue before he told his father the other secret he had learned. _I know what you are, too_.

"We have to destroy it...I know you don't..." His father's eyes flickered around the dim hide out, his voice a wash of air that they were both afraid to use.

"It should be fair," Devlin said at last, passing the locket to him, even though he knew it would never be fair, because how could Voldemort die, if Potter was alive? And how could Voldemort kill a part of himself? Surely this would end in some kind of truce. For a moment he felt a bit of hope. If Potter was the only remaining Horcrux, Voldemort wouldn't kill him. Devlin could have them all.

His father eyed the locket, turning it over in his hands. He tried to open it, but it wouldn't. Devlin grabbed it from his hands and then froze for a second because his father had _let _him. Perhaps his father was finally coming to see that they could work together as equals. He tapped the lockets front, to show the snake.

"I think you best tell it to open," he said, "in parseltongue."

Vapor as dark as ash and as choking filled the space before, swirling around, it condensed into a _child_. The child peered at him, made up of the vapor and as colorless - except for his eyes, which were the same as Devlin's.

'_We're just the same,'_ the boy whispered, standing at the edge of the rubble-hideout, curling his finger toward himself, motioning for him to come with him. '_Can't you see? He sees it, otherwise I wouldn't be here. He knows we're just the same."_

Devlin felt his heart hammering in his chest, felt his body going cold. His father had frozen, but only for a moment. His wand was lifting and suddenly there was _fire, fire, fire_ with only a silky blue shield to protect them both from the heat.

Fire, fire, fire.

Devlin awoke with a start, his hand already closed around his wand, the wand already aimed. There was a hand on his shoulder and Devlin blinked once to clear his vision. It always hit him in times like this how annoying it must be for his father, to need something outside of his complete control merely to _see_. The idea of it taking more than a split second to orient himself _scared_ him more than most things.

The hand was small and trembling and Devlin lifted his gaze to find it's owner to be the boy who looked just like the other Harry.

"Hello," he said awkwardly, his hand still trembling on Devlin's shoulder, his eyes glued to the wand tip mere inches from his face.

"You were burning up. Mum went to get a fever reducer. You erm...well you lit your curtains on fire. Mum told me not to come in but..."

Devlin sat up. His brow was wet with sweat, his body hot and pink.

"Oh goodness, lay back down. You're terribly hot!" Ginny scolded, as she raced into the room. "Really, really, really hot!" She said, sounding worried. She turned to the boy. "Go try your father again, Alby. Call the main floo if you have too - I need him _here_."

Albus nodded and scurried out of the room. Ginny turned back to him.

"Are you feeling sick? Do you want me to help you to the loo?"

"It was just a fever charm," he said slowly, realizing that he must have preformed every curse he had in the dream. After all, it had been _him_ who had lit the locket on fire, beating his father by mere seconds. He wasn't sure, even now, who the shield had belonged too.

"No, no, no - that was too _hot_. You were pink. Besides - no one was here to cast it, dear."

"I was, in my dream. It's almost as painful as Crucio, if you use it right," he said softly, throwing the hot blankets off of himself. Ginny eyed him critically.

"I used it on Bella once," he continued, feeling delirious from the heat still clinging to his insides. "I don't like her. She likes me. I look like Voldemort and she's obsessed with him. I don't like her. She was trying to grab me from dad. I...she..." he turned around. Was Sirius dead? He suddenly couldn't recall if he's seen the man outside, after his father had died. Perhaps they were both dead. Now he felt sick.

He scrambled out of the bed and rushed to the loo all by himself, swaying and tripping on his way. A moment later he heard rushed feet stomping up the stairs and suddenly _he_ was there, _alive_ and Devlin sobbed with the un-fairness of it all.

"Hey, hey, shhh. It's alright. Here, lets get you cooler," Harry said, glancing at Ginny standing by the door. But Devlin scrambled away from him, cowering. His skin was still pink with fever, his brain still pulsing and aching.

"It's not fair," he said, gasping for air. He hugged his knees before springing up and retching over the toilet again. "You make me want to say things that don't matter to you, because you're not real - you don't matter. I love you - but not _you_. I'm sorry - but not to _you_." He shoved his fist into his mouth and bit down hard. Harry pulled the hand out of his mouth.

"Devlin? What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"It doesn't matter to _you_. You're not him and he's dead, so it doesn't matter to either of you!"

There was no horror or surprise on Harry's face and Devlin realized, even through the steam around his brain, that he had _known_ back in that office. He turned away, disgusted with himself.

"I want to go to sleep," he said softly, rising to his feet. Harry let him.

The first thing he did after he closed the door was to retrieve the stone. The thing that his father had wanted to protect. It was the first time he had truly looked at the stone since arriving in this world. He held it between his fingers, holding it up to the light and looking at the murkiness residing inside of the tiny amber colored thing.

_Whispers_.

He looked around, but the door remained firmly shut. There were not feet outside his door, no little eyes or noses or ears at the bottom.

'_Devlin_...'

He scrambled to his feet, his wand aimed, the stone still firmly in his grasp. The whisper continued. '_Don't be scared,_' the whisper said, but Devlin was. He dropped the stone onto the floor and instantly the whispers were gone. Devlin felt his heart beat quickly. He didn't sleep at all that night.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

He sat upon the bed, eying the tiny stone still laying innocently on the floor, until a scuffle out in the hallway made him aware it was truly morning.

"Give it here, James!"

It was Albus, his voice younger and more whiny. Devlin rose to his feet slowly, feeling as if he were fighting against a Stupefy curse. He stood before the stone for a moment, his shoes _just _missing it, then bent down quickly and pocketed the thing before whatever was so obviously inside of it could whisper again. It seemed to be activated by touch.

"James!"

"Alby!"

"Stop it, give it to me!"

"Why don't you come and get it?"

He opened the door to find Albus pinned against the wall by one of James' hands. James had his other hand fisted around some object that was obviously the focus of the scuffle. It seemed the boys had yet to be heard from downstairs.

Devlin felt a familiar rage pulse in his chest.

"Let him go!" He said venomously. James' laughed, hardly even turning.

"You don't scare me," he said, half amused. He wasn't being cruel, but Devlin couldn't see that. He was back in the castle, with all the chaos. Then he was six years old again, with Draco Malfoy kidnapping him while his father pleaded. Devlin felt his magic pulse as Albus tried to shove the older boy off of him.

"Let him go."

Another laugh.

"So he can try and sneak this stupid thing under my pillow again? No way." Devlin had no idea what the boy was holding in his fist, but he didn't much care either.

"Get off of him," he repeated, his voice deadly. "Or I will make you."

James looked him up and down.

"Make me? How? This isn't about you anyways."

Devlin snarled, his magic biting beneath his skin. There was a whirl as his magic came alive and shoved James away from Albus onto the floor. James' scrambled up, rushing at him. The object James had been holding - a tiny metal snake that the boy had probably been gifted in Slytherin - was on the floor now. It came alive suddenly, at Devlin's urging. It was too small to do much of anything, except make Albus' eyes alight.

It was then, of course, that Harry came upstairs at all the noise.

"What is going on up here?" He asked. He lost patience faster than Devlin thought his own father would have, but then again, his own Harry didn't often have scuffles in his hallways.

"He attacked me!" James said, pointing at him. Devlin stood very still, feeling his magic receding.

"Only because he was hurting me first!" Albus cried, pointing at James.

Devlin began to feel all of his emotions leave him through his toes. He felt numb. Nothing good. Nothing bad. It was as if he isn't there at all.

"Devlin?"

Harry was speaking to him, his voice still sharp but his features becoming concerned.

"I hurt him," he said softly, but with the firmness that Grandfather had never let him speak without.

Harry's brow creased. Devlin felt a pang of guilt. He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to appear properly ashamed even though he couldn't feel anything at all.

_Gone_.

His eyes sprung up to search the floor to find the tiny amber stone laying innocently on the carpeted hallway, closer to Albus than himself.

Albus had seen it too. He was reaching forward.

_Bad, bad, bad_.

Devlin only knew of one other thing that _whispered_ when one touched it - Horcruxes.

"Don't touch it!" He shouted, his selfishness about ownership of the stone suddenly gone in the face of Albus being infected by whatever lived inside of it. "Don't touch it!"

He was leaping forward, but not fast enough. Albus' hand had closed around the object just as Devlin plowed into him, trying to prevent the contact.

"You can have it," Albus was saying, trying to sound reassuring. Potter was stepping forward, coming closer. Albus opened his hand to offer the stone to Devlin. Harry had seen it, of course.

"Where did you get that, Devlin?" He asked, brandishing his wand and lifting the tiny thing into the air. There was a reverence in his voice.

"Don't touch it," Devlin said softly, that numbness returning. That selfishness enveloping him again and making him want to grab the stone from the air and pocket it for himself. The last and most important thing to his father.

"Where did you get this, Devlin?" Harry repeated, his voice awed. His wand arm was shaking, making the stone dance temptingly in the air before Devlin.

"Give it to me," Devlin said, feeling broken. His voice was soft and gravelly. "Please don't take it away. My dad...my dad wanted it to stay safe. I'm keeping it safe for him..."

Harry's eyes snapped to his, the most vivid green that Devlin could remember them ever being.

"Where did you get this Devlin?" He asked, his voice half-choked, his wand arm faltering and making the stone shake slightly. Ginny had climbed the stairs as well and was staring from behind him, obviously confused at the value of the tiny stone.

"I can't say," he whispered, backing up to the wall again.

"We...we need to talk, Devlin," Potter said. "Albus, James - go downstairs."

James stalked off, obviously sensing the tension, but Albus fetched his snake first.

"What about my snake, Dad? Can't you fix it first?"

It was turning and twisting in Albus' grasp, hissing it's concern. Devlin waited for Potter to calm the snake, but instead he ignored it's unease as he canceled Devlin's spell.

"You scared her," Devlin said, just as the fact it was. "Why didn't you talk to her?"

It seemed so unusual that Devlin couldn't help but point it out, despite the tension and unease that was suffocating them.

Harry Potter never let innocent things suffer.

"I haven't been able to speak to snakes for about twenty years..."

The words had more impact than Harry had expected. Devlin's eyes went wide. His breath hitched. Realization was on the horizon of his mind and he scrambled to piece together the outline of it all.

_Dumbledore seem's to think some of Voldemort's powers transferred to me, when the Killing Curse backfired. _**_Horcrux_**_._

_Some of Voldemort's powers transferred to me. _**_Horcrux._**

_Voldemort's powers. _**_Horcrux._**

_"He died. I killed him. Twenty years ago." _**_..._**

"You're not..."

"Not what?" Harry asked, concern etching his face. Albus was leaving slowly.

"Part of _him_. A Horcrux..."

Harry went pale as ash.

"You know about that?" Devlin nodded. "No...I'm not. Is..your Harry?"

"Yes..."

"Devlin," there was hand on his forearm, keeping him there, even though Devlin wanted to run so badly. "We need to talk, alright?"

"No, we don't. It's all different. You _fought_. You _cared_. My father cared about that stupid stone more than me," he said, pulling himself away. He stumbled, still sleepless, still recovering from his own torturous charm from last night.

"I know where you got that stone, Devlin," he began, softly. "I too left one behind."

"Where you fought!"

"Where I almost died, Devlin," he said softly, chocking on his words as his voice broke. He tried to imagine his Albus being there beside him as Voldemort had lifted that wand and killed him. For a moment he remembered that moment that he stood frozen as Dumbledore was killed - held in place and made to watch by the Headmaster's own magic. The tears came faster and faster. "He didn't want you there, Devlin. He didn't want you to see that..."

"You don't know anything," the child said, his own voice steady and calm. But there were so many emotions in his eyes. "He told me to run, but _I_ wouldn't."

The child turned to press his cheek against the wall. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. Gasps racked his body and made him shake.

To Harry he looked broken. Harry tried not to break alongside him as he imagined a world in which _his child_ could become this damaged.

"I had to see it," the child was saying, his voice as lost as his eyes made him appear. "I was there. I could have saved him, but I _didn't_."

"I don't understand, Devlin. No one could have saved me-"

"We aren't talking about you!" The boy shouted, his magic once more swirling to life around them. "You're not him! You're different! Not the same! Not, not, not!"

His face was flush with anger, his hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest heaving with emotion.

"How could you have saved him?" Harry asked, sitting back on his heels in front of the boy, giving him a bit of space.

"I could have told Voldemort what my father was - part of him."

"But Devlin - that wouldn't have saved him. The fact that Voldemort did not know - that is what leaves the possibility of him living."

"He's dead," Devlin spat with such rage that it was almost tangible in the air. "I saw the body."

"Please, Devlin...please let me talk to you."

"I don't want to talk about my dead father," the child shouted, kicking at the wall and making a dent in the surface. He made to shove past him, but Harry reached out and made him pause.

"After breakfast, Ginny and I want to talk to you, alright? Not about this topic."

The boy scowled for a moment and then in seeming defeat, nodded curtly. Harry knew that even if he forced the story on the boy, he wouldn't be able to accept the faintest possibility until he was ready.

OoOoO

Devlin came to them in the living room after breakfast, after Lily and Albus were suitably preoccupied by other things. The house was quiet and Harry felt a smile tug at his lips. Having Devlin around had quieted Albus and pulled the studious boy out in him. Lily was probably pestering James.

"You wanted to talk to me?" He asked softly, the rage vanished. Now there was only politeness and stilted emotions.

"Yes," Harry answered, putting the Quibbler down. "I talked to the Ministry team assigned to your case and they have told me, unfortunately, it will be a couple weeks before they see much progress. Well past Holiday vacation. I spoke to Neville and he agreed that you could attend Hogwarts with Albus during your stay...I wanted to know how you might feel about that."

"That's fine," Devlin said, giving away nothing. "Is that all?"

"Er...yeah," Harry said, feeling like he should push the boy but also feeling like it wasn't his place. This wasn't _his _son and perhaps he was making the child uncomfortable.

Another curt nod and the child was gone.

**So I know this is short but it's a start, right? Please send me an encouraging review!**


	10. Portrait of a Dark Man

** Just a bit of an update for you guys. Sorry it's so short. Life is busy and motivation for this story - well you already know I want to rewrite the whole series. I'm getting there. :) I have part of the next chapter planned and another part already written (a good chunk actually), but I have to fill a couple gaps in. Hope you enjoy!**

"Sneaking around again, hmmm?"

Devlin can tell from the almost disappointed glint in the portraits eyes that he had meant to surprise him, but Devlin's only reaction is to curve his lips upwards in a smile.

"If I were sneaking, even you wouldn't have noticed," he said pleasantly. Which was true.

Devlin flicked a finger and the lights around the little corner sprung into life.

"Then why are you here, interrupting my sleep?" The drawl was plainly there along with the sneer, but Devlin had grown to ignore the roughness with which Snape always spoke.

"We were interrupted yesterday," he said softly, peering at the portrait intently. "I merely came to finish our conversation."

"In the dark of night, without Harry," Snape said, sneering and narrowing his eyes. Devlin had the decency and forethought to look away for a moment as he nodded. "I see..."

"I need to know what you were going to say to me. About Dumbledore and his goals for Harry."

Snape's eyebrow twitched and he pinched his lips together.

"Do you really?" Snape challenged, looking at him with a faint spark of uncertainty that Devlin knew all to well as the glint that lit peoples eyes when they were thinking of him as a child.

"I was kidnapped by Voldemort when I was six," he said bluntly. "When I was eleven I found myself there again. There is not one child who understands what I have done, because if a child understands what I have done, they are no longer a child - just like me."

Snape didn't have the decency to look away, instead he stared more intently at him.

"Albus was always more attached to Potter than he ought to have been," Snape began, continuing right from where they had left off. Devlin couldn't help the glint of _need_ from reaching his eyes. Snape narrowed his gaze. "Considering that his goal was to have Potter die."

_There will be no more dueling. _

Devlin swallowed past his dry throat.

"But he didn't," Devlin said, his mind racing.

"Actually I did." Devlin spun around to find Potter at the living room door. He was dressed in flannel pants and a muggle t-shirt.

Devlin stared, mind lurching to understand what seemed plainly impossible.

"Well sort of," Harry said after a moment, shrugging. He stepped into the room. "I suspect now that when I was 'given' the choice to live or die I was simply choosing whether I would die or the fragment of Voldemort's soul that lived in me would die instead. When I chose life, I chose for that fragment to die."

"I-"

"I did die, Devlin. I fell forwards just as Voldemort fell backwards. I chose to live."

Devlin turned away from Potter.

"My father didn't. He laid there, _dead_. Hagrid carried him back to the castle and Voldemort made him put the body onto the rubble."

"In this world, Hagrid carried my body while I pretended to be dead."

Devlin eyed him critically and for a long moment none of them said anything.

"And then?" His chest felt empty of air, his words feeling like dry sand through his throat.

"I wasn't dead, I fought him. I told Tom that we should end things as we started them, and we did - just us." Devlin flinched. Harry frowned. "What's wrong?"

"He doesn't like to be called that," Devlin said, monotone and what seemed automatically.

"It's his name," Harry replied steadily. "You shouldn't be afraid of a name."

"I'm not afraid," Devlin said, suddenly. His hands curled into fists and his jaw jutted forward. There was an ugly scowl on his face. Harry thought he wanted to say more, but wouldn't allow himself. He looked up suddenly - his green eyes brilliant in the magical lighting, his magic washing out around him. "I'm not afraid."

There was such a firmness to his voice that Harry could almost _feel_ it in the air.

"Alright," Harry said softly, trying to comfort him. "I believe you."

"No you don't," the boy said, caustic laughter in his words. Behind him Snape was frowning. "Tell the truth!"

Harry was reminded of Ginny's comment.

_He learned to be just like him._

"Would you like some hot cocoa?"

The question seemed to throw the boy aback and he physically reeled.

"What?"

"Come have something to drink with me," he said softly. When the boy hesitated, Harry offered something he thought would be less offensive to a second year who would soon be thirteen. "How about a Butterbeer?"

He peered at him for a long time.

"And you'll be having?"

"The same."

For some reason this seemed to make the boy nod with what appeared to be a bit of assurance and for the fifth or eighth or who knew what time - Harry felt a twinge of worry about the other Harry.

"Alright," he said, clearly trying to stomp on his temper a bit. They walked together into the kitchen.

"Tomorrow Molly and Author are coming over for a visit," Harry said, as they walked. "They'll stay the night and the day after that, some more family will come over."

Devlin mentally counted the rooms in the house. It wasn't exactly a huge house and there were currently two additional people living in it than had in his world.

"I asked Alby if he wouldn't mind you bunking with him," Harry continued, as they entered into the kitchen and he went to the fridge. It was a small cupboard enhanced by spells to be nearly endless. In Devlin's world everything was much more _muggle_ in the kitchen, but he supposed Ginny was more used to a magical set-up. "Will you mind?"

"I could sleep on the couch," he offered, eager to avoid being that close to someone else. At Hogwarts it was different because his father had gone through the trouble of begging Snape to allow him to put up silencing spells around his bed. They had allowed several spells to be added to his bed because of his celebrity status and thus potential to be targeted.

Harry reached into the cupboard and withdrew two cold bottles of butterbeer. His father sometimes let him have one if he found him at the table drinking whisky in the middle of the night. It was one of the few times that both of them dropped their guards and actually _talked_.

"Alby will be disappointed-" Harry began, glancing up. "Is there anything I could do to make you comfortable sleeping with Albus?"

Devlin wasn't the eleven year old he had been at Hogwarts. He wasn't the boy who hid his scars.

"Silencing charms," he said easily, opening the butter beer Harry had handed him. "And curtains."

There was a small frown tugging Harry's lips downward, but after a moment and sip, he nodded.

"Alright," he said, more easily than Devlin had anticipated. "Now about your Harry," he said.

"What about my dad?" He said, just to push the distinction. The other Harry glanced up and he was glad to see that the distinction had an impact.

"There is a chance-"

"I don't like chances, Mr. Potter. What you're talking about is a 'hope' or a 'desire' and they are both worthless things in which I do not partake. To desire something is to be crestfallen when it does not happen."

"Then promise me, before I let them send you home, that you will listen to _my _story."

He knew plainly what Potter was trying to do (to make him hope), but he also recognized all that this Harry Potter was doing for him and all the times he had taken _his_ Harry Potter for granted. So he nodded. He had told himself, back in Dumbledore's office, that he wouldn't be Dubhán around this Potter.

"I promise," he said, knowing that words meant more than gestures.

"Great. Now, about today." Devlin eyed him with an underlying suspiciousness that Harry's children had never been Slytherin enough to show. Harry thought that as a boy he must have looked at his Aunt like this at times; like when she would talk about new glasses or school lunches. "I managed to get you a visit with a great Healer about your arm. I want to make sure my clumsy healing doesn't leave any permanent damage. It took some fiddling but I got us a rush appointment for today."

The boy rubbed up and down the damaged arm almost subconsciously. He was almost certain it still hurt some, but he had waited long enough for the child to tell him and had decided yesterday that the boy was probably the type to complain only if a limb was missing entirely.

"I'm fine," he said after a moment.

"Yeah well...you'll humor me, right?" He seemed to give this a fair amount of thought.

"Yes, alright. For you."

Harry tried not to feel guilty at the clear fact that the boy was humoring him not because of who he was, but because of what he was - the parallel to his father.

**Please review! **


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